


Genetic Composite

by RenkonNairu



Series: A Song of Steel and Light [1]
Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Beast Island, Clone-Baby AU, Eventual Fluff, F/M, Female Friendship, Flashbacks, Gen, Hordak's Past, Male-Female Friendship, Near Death Experiences, Out of Fandom References, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Rescue Attempts, Sea Shanties, feelings are doing most of the punching, non-binary child character, world building
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-11-22
Packaged: 2020-08-10 07:43:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 119,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20131810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RenkonNairu/pseuds/RenkonNairu
Summary: Before Catra returned from the Crimson Wastes, Entrapta was working on a more permanent solution to fixing Hordak's problem. But then the whole portal debacle happened and in all the confusion, the experiment was left unattended.Or,In which so much shit hit so many fans and sprayed everywhere, no one in Etheria can make heads or tails of what's going on anymore and everyone's just running around trying to figure out what's in front of them at that moment.





	1. A Pot Left to Cook Too Long

The exo-suit wasn’t perfect overnight, an in fact, was not likely to ever become perfect. It could only give Hordak a healthy and functioning body while he was wearing it. While this didn’t seem like a problem while he was lifting equipment in the lab, he did have to disrobe eventually. To shower and cleanse himself. To change his under clothes and keep them fresh. To assess the spread of the clone-degradation. The exo-suit allowed him to function, it was not a cure for what ailed him. The exo-suit wasn’t perfect, and was not likely to become perfect. It was not lasting solution. 

The exo-suit was just a temporary stop-gap. A means of keeping Hordak alive and giving him a level of quality to that life similar to what he had grown accustomed to, while Entrapta worked on a more permanent solution to the flaw in his genetic coding that was the root of all that ailed him. 

Hordak said he was unable to clone a new body for himself. But Hordak wasn’t quite –and she meant no disrespect to her lab partner, he was the best (and only) lab partner she’d ever had- but Hordak wasn’t as clever or brilliant as she was. Hordak didn’t look for creative solutions. Instead, he allowed himself to become frustrated by failures, and frustration clouded his thinking. 

Entrapta, however, did not suffer from such a handicap. Instead of becoming frustrated when an experiment failed, or an invention did not turn out the way she originally planned, Entrapta became more excited. It wasn’t a problem. It was a fun new puzzle to solve. It was exciting. 

While Entrapta fitted Hordak with his exo-suit, she also took the opportunity to take samples of his DNA for testing to figure out the cause of the degradation that plagued his body. A single strand of his blue hair. A few discarded flecks of his waxy white skin. Getting the saliva sample wasn’t quite as subtle, she had one of the machines fitting the collar accidentally bump him in the teeth. Hordak bit his lip on the impact, angering him, but also gifting Entrapta with a little blood as well as saliva. 

Rich with samples of his DNA, she began her new project of learning the root cause of the clone-degradation that plagued her partner, stopping it, and –if at all possible- repairing the damage already done. 

After all, if he really did plan on going back to his own dimension one day, he would need his body to be functional and healthy, and not need to rely on mobility-aids or prosthetics. 

It was a good thing she got samples from multiple sources, because when her computer read her the first results she had to double check the results and account for variables. But the results remained the same even accounting for the variable of the source of the sample. 

Hordak seemed to be missing the MG53 gene. That could just as easily be because he was an alien from, not just another planet, but a whole other dimension entirely. However, considering the nature of his problem, Entrapta didn’t think so. 

The MG53 gene was protein that was the key active component in the body’s engine for repairing cell membranes. In other words, it was what allowed bodies to heal after being injured. It was what caused wounds to close, tissues to regenerate, and fought infection. Since Entrapta had met Hordak, he only seemed to become weaker and more frail, his skin more waxy and leathery, those dark patches on his back larger and wider. In short, his body was not healing. 

But that was an easy fix!

Entrapta could just fill in his body’s deficiencies by mixing in Etherian DNA to fill in the holes in Hordak’s sequence. She could clone him a new body! He tried to do it himself, but none of his clones ever survived the incubation process because they were missing the vital gene that allowed them to regenerate. She could clone him a new body and splice in some Etherian genes to make up for his body’s deficiencies. 

And getting a sample of Etherian DNA would be even easier than getting his DNA. Entrapta could just use her own!

After setting up a new tank and splicing in the desired genes, Entrapta waited just long enough to make sure cellular division had begun and the spliced cell had successfully become a zygote, before returning to the portal project she shared with Hordak. 

By the time the portal was stable and he was ready to reunite with Horde Prime, he would have a brand new and healthy body to inhabit and live out the rest of his quasi-natural life in. 

Then Catra returned from the Crimson Wastes with Adora and the sword of She-Ra, and things went sideways.

…


	2. Picking Up the Pieces of a Broken Regime

Catra grabbed his arm and pulled. 

But Hordak didn’t move at first, just looked at her. Equal parts startled and confused. This was not how things were supposed to go. 

“We have to go now!” Catra shouted. 

Hordak looked back at the destroyed portal machine, at She-Ra in all her glory standing in its remains, at the rebellion soldiers that accompanied the attack. He notes that Entrapta was not among them. But that detail seemed immaterial next to the realization that he had lost. His defeat all but complete. Catra was right. If he wished to retaliate against his enemies and- -and exact revenge on the one that betrayed him, he would need to make a strategic retreat. Flee now, and return to fight another day. 

Chin tilting down, Hordak looked at the gem on the collar of his exo-suit. Lilac with a pinkish under-hue, more of a muted fuchsia. Not a Horde color, but an Entrapta color. He would see Entrapta again. He promised himself. 

He would run now, so that he could regroup and confront her for her betrayal. 

Hordak would have satisfaction!

Nodding, Hordak turned to the cat-girl and it was he who lead their retreat from the collapsing laboratory. 

…

No one knew what happened to Hordak or Catra. It was Hordak’s private laboratory that was destroyed. Not all of the Fright Zone, not all of Horde Command, not even the entire building. Just Hordak’s private lab, the adjacent living quarters, his throne room… basically the whole Sanctum. But Hordak’s Sanctum was not all of Horde Command. The Princess Alliance dealt them a devastating blow. But the Horde was not destroyed. The Horde remained. 

It was only their leader and a handful of high ranking commanders and Force Captains that were lost. 

Lord Hordak, Commander of the Mighty Horde Supremacy. Force Captain Catra. Force Captain Scorpia. And a handful of lieutenants and soldiers Catra had brought with her from the Crimson Wastes. 

No one could find them anywhere in the Fright Zone and they were presumed dead. Lonnie, Regelio, and Kyle searched the ruin of the lab for hours. No bodies were ever found. It was entirely possible that their bodies might have been vaporized or disintegrated when the portal was destroyed. None of them knew what happened in that lab after the Princesses got in. All they knew was that Hordak was gone, and the Horde was without central leadership. 

“We need to assess the damages from this attack.” Lonnie tried to rally those left that gathered near where the Sanctum used to be. “Take inventory of weapons, rations, other supplies. Then we can-“

“We need to retaliate!” Octavia cut her off before Lonnie could finish her thoughts. “The Princesses might think they’ve beaten us with this. That they’ve won. We need to show them how wrong they are! We need to hit them now! While they’re celebrating and their guard is down.”

“Hit them with what?” Grizzlor snorted derisively. “They’re gonna think they’ve won because they have won. Look at this place. Our leader is gone. Our base is half-destroyed. Most of our troops fled after the explosion. They beat us. The Rebellion won. We should flee like the deserters before they come back to sweep up the mess.”

“Then leave.” Lonnie barked at him. “You obviously won’t be an asset with a defeatist attitude like that.”

“It’s not over until it’s over.” Octavia agreed. “And I say it’s not over!”

“Attacking so soon after a blow like this isn’t wise!” Grizzlor snarled back, the hackles of his snout curling back. “Hordak would never make such an obvious mistake.”

“Hordak isn’t here!” Lonnie reminded him. For all they knew, he was vaporized when the lab was destroyed. Hordak was gone. 

“We have no leader!” Grizzlor reminded him. Who did they expect to organize, conduct, and carry out any new retaliations against the Alliance? If the Force Captains were on the ground with the troops, who would be at Command organizing the movements. The logistics didn’t work. 

“Then it’s time for a new leader!” Octavia roared over his naysaying. “I nominate me!”

“You?” Lonnie snorted with her own heavy dollop of derision. A snort accompanied by a laugh. 

“Why not me?” She shot back. “I’m a Force Captain. Since Catra and Scorpia are absent, and Shadow Weaver was stripped of her position long before now, power naturally falls to me.”

That was –technically- true. The chain of Command went Hordak, then Shadow Weaver before she was deposed, after Hordak and Shadow Weaver, control of the Horde would pass to the highest ranked Force Captain available and able. With Scorpia and Catra missing in action, and Grizzlor ready to desert, that meant Octavia was now acting leader of the Horde. 

There was just one problem with that.

“I’m not taking orders from you.” Lonnie announced, firm in her resolve. 

“I’m the rightful heir to Horde Command!” The other woman snarled back. 

“Yeah…” Lonnie agreed, crossing her arms over her chest. “But I have it on good authority that you’re a Dumb Face. So, I won’t be voting for you.”

“You don’t vote for Commanders!”

Grizzlor drew in a breath. “Actually, given the current circumstances, a vote might be the best course-“

“Shut-up!” Both women barked at him. They had no patience for the opinions of a deserter. He should just leave if that was what he wanted so badly. 

Through all of this exchange, both Kyle and Regelio stood to the side, unsure of what they should be doing. Or if they should even be there in the first place. They certainly weren’t Force Captains, and –unlike Lonnie- they were not outspoken or assertive enough to dictate their opinions to their superior officers. But, at the mention of a vote, Kyle did raise his hand. 

“Actually, if we are voting.” He began hesitantly, almost afraid that whatever he was going to say was going to hit him beat up. “I vote in favor of Lonnie’s idea to access damage and regroup.” 

“Kyle!” Lonnie shouted, almost as if she were upset with him. Then, “Thank you.”

“Nobody asked you, grunt!” Octavia practically spat at him. 

Kyle flinched at the harshness in her tone. She was a Force Captain and he had basically just said that her plan was dumb and that he thought a common soldier’s ideas were better than hers. Under any other circumstances, voicing such an opinion would definitely, definitely get him punished. 

Regelio placed himself between his small, skinny, fragile human comrade and glared a challenge at Octavia. If she wanted to hurt the weaker little soldier, she’d have to go through him first. Regelio exhaled, a jets of warm air escaping through his reptilian snout. “I’m with Lonnie.”

Octavia’s eyes narrowed at him, assessing. She looked back at Grizzlor. Then, finally, her gaze returned to Lonnie, sizing her up too. Then she smiled. As if a peace bargain had just been struck, though no words were exchanged between the two women. 

“You have your loyal soldiers, Lommie-“

“Lonnie.” She corrected the other woman. 

“-and I have mine. No vote necessary. Let the troops that remain follow whomever they choose. The ones actually worth anything will choose me. We’re gonna hit the Princesses hard, when they least expect it and be recorded in Horde history as the greatest victory of our age. You and your grunts can stay here, playing in the dust and counting your beans.”

She turned and walked away, heading for the hanger to see what tanks and skiffs had not been taken by deserters. 

Lonnie glanced at Grizzlor. 

He held her eyes for a second too long for the look to be insignificant. Maybe he was seeing something in her worth taking note of. Whatever it was, he did not share his thoughts. Grizzlor turned, as Octavia had done, and left the Fright Zone. As he said he would. 

Lonnie kept her eyes focused on the direction they left in long after they disappeared from view. When she was satisfied neither of them were coming back to attack her, she sighed. Letting out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding in. And turned to her companions. 

“Lets see what we actually have to work with.”

“What- what just happened?” Kyle asked, nervous. He clung to Regelio, both hands clutching his reptilian’s forearm as if his life might depend on it. 

Lonnie looked back in the direction Grizzlor and Octavia had disappeared again. 

“I think…” she began, unsure herself “…I think the Horde just fractured into factions.”

Regelio and Kyle exchanged an identical glance of concern. Organizations that broke into pieces ultimately were dissolved or destroyed. Either way, they did not survive. It was how the Horde had the Princess Alliance on the edge of defeat before She-Ra appeared. But, that didn’t mean the Horde was destined for destruction. Perhaps they could find a ‘She-Ra’ of their own. 

Both men looked back at Lonnie, that look of concern morphing into an odd kind of hesitant, almost cautious, optimism. “We are at your command… Commander Lonnie.”

…

Imp usually stayed so close to Hordak. 

But in all the confusion and rush to escape the destruction of the Sanctum, they were separated. 

Flying through the corridors, his tiny wings beating with a haste driven by the combined needs to both find his master, and escape the enemies. His tiny golden eyes darting in every direction. Glancing down every intersection and corridor for the hem of his master’s robe, or the tail of the cat-girl whom was with him. 

Imp was so focused on minding Hordak that he failed to see the person right in front of him until his tiny little child-like body collided with it. 

A red armored chest. Broad and curvy. A wash of red, and sporting the emblem of the Horde. 

Shaking his tiny round head to clear it, Imp looked up into the face of one of Hordak’s Force Captains. The inexplicably cheerful big woman. Scorpia. 

“Whoa there, little fella!” She wrapped her pincers gently around him, as if trying to catch Imp form a fall –Imp was not about to fall. He was a better flyer than that. “Are you lost?”

No. He was not lost. He knew exactly where in Horde Command he was. 

But he was separated from his master. A being who’s side he’d never left since before Hordak was banished by Horde Prime. So… yes. Maybe Imp was lost. Just not in the common sense of the word. 

The building shook as something from the Sanctum blew. 

“I’ll help ya, little guy.” Scorpia promised. “But first I think we should take cover.” 

Still holding him, Scorpia darted into the room she must have just vacated when Imp flew into her. 

Entrapta’s lab. 

Originally the holding cell she was kept in when Catra and Scorpia first caught her in the Fright Zone, then later repurposed as her private lab when she started working collaboratively for the Horde.  
Displayed on the screen of the main console was what looked like the last frame of a simulation of test results. An image of the planet Etheria on fire. Below the image were charts and diagrams laying out the empirical data numerically in case the animation wasn’t compelling enough. Data that said that a portal opened from the Etheria side could destroy the world. 

Well, that certainly explained a few things. 

Wriggling out of Scorpia’s hold, Imp turned his attention to the rest of the laboratory. 

Scorpia let him go, instead bending down to pick up a discarded stun baton from the floor. She looked at it forlornly. As if the baton had personally used and betrayed her. ‘We do make a good team.’ ‘Do it! Or you wanna be next?’

Whatever was falling apart, breaking, or exploding in the Sanctum finally made it to the closed circuit generator that powered Hordak’s lab. The generator blew. Sending shockwaves of the blast radiating throughout the rest of the building. 

Scorpia once again threw her arms around the tiny Imp, as if he were something fragile that needed to be protected. But the leap and the blast threw her off balance and both Force Captain and Imp went falling into the glass exterior of what appeared to be a tank. 

The force of Scorpia’s hard shell armor racking the glass. The shaking from the explosions in the Sanctum exacerbating the damage, turning the crack into a hole. Fluid began to leak from the tank. 

“Oh, jeez! Oh, no!” Scorpia let go of Imp and climbed back to her feet. “Entrapta’s gonna be so mad!” 

No sooner had she exclaimed this then she went suddenly silent. Entrapta had bigger problems than Scorpia’s clumsiness damaging something in her lab. 

The Force Captain looked down at her pincers. Entrapta was on her way to Beast Island. Banished to a wild and harsh landscape where she would most likely die. And Scorpia was –in part- the one who sent her there. No more than ten minutes after she just finished thanking the other woman for hanging out with her, and venting about how none of her other friends seemed to have time for her. After boding over their shared confusion and lack of understanding of Catra. Scorpia had betrayed her. 

Not directly. It was not Scorpia who shocked Entrapta in the back with the stun baton. That was Catra’s action. But Scorpia didn’t lift a claw to stop it. After it was done, Scorpia gave up her challenge of the action quickly. Just following orders instead. Scorpia might not have been the one to wield the baton, but she had still betrayed Entrapta. 

Breaking something in the now empty and abandoned lab was the least of any of their worries. 

Imp struggled to pry himself out of Scorpia’s arms –again- and fluttered down to the floor to sniff at the fluid that trickled from the expanding cracks of the tank. 

Embryotic fluid. The same kind his master used in his own failed cloning attempts. Before he had given up on making a new body for himself. It even smelled like Hordak. Like his master blended with the scent of another being. The mingled scents of master and his Princess lab partner. Of Hordak and Entrapta. 

Imp looked up at the being floating in the tank. His tiny mouth and golden eyes going wide. 

Scorpia similarly looked at the thing in the tank. Her own jaw going slack at what she saw. 

A being floated there. Not a ball of cells. Or a partially formed embryo. But a fully developed organism. Two arms. Two legs. Five fingers. Five toes. Taloned fingers and toes. Pointed ears. Vertical nasal cavity. A long mohawk of blue hair trailing down their back in a delicate tail. They looked like a child-version of Hordak! 

They were small. Clearly not yet having developed into an adult body. Not even a teenage body, really. They were a pre-adolescent. If Scorpia hadn’t found them floating in a cloning tank, she would have placed their age at ten years. Still very much a child, but old enough to talk back and ask why. The frozen and glitching readout on the tank’s console, however, dated the being at less than a week old. 

Clearly, Entrapta was running some kind of accelerated aging program within the cloning tank. That aging program was stopped now. The process broken when the glass membrane of the tank broke. So were the life support systems. Red lights and alarms flashed around it to indicate that their oxygen levels were already falling. Their heart rate was increasing. Blood pressure was up. 

“Hang on there, kiddo!” She shouted at the cracked glass. “I’ll get you out!”

Raising one heavy pincer, Scorpia brought her claw down on the already cracked spot of the tank. The crack widened and more fluid sprayed out. Air bubbling into the tank in its place. But the child-Hordak clone still bobbed in the life-giving fluid that was now killing them. Drowning in their own embryotic fluid. Scorpia brought her claw down on the glass again, but again, it just cracked more, it did not break. Clearly, she needed something heavier or with more force than her own claw. 

Glancing around the lab, Scorpia’s eyes fell on the stun baton. The same one Catra used to betray and subdue Entrapta with. The same one Catra turned on her and threatened that Scorpia would be next if she didn’t follow orders. Scorpia failed to save her friend. Betraying Entrapta by inaction. She failed her friend. She would not fail her friend’s last experiment! 

Seizing the stun baton, Scorpia had enough forethought to make sure the electricity was off before she swung the heavy baton. It smashed the already cracked and weakened glass on the first swing. Fluid flooding the floor of the lab, the child-Hordak clone tumbling and falling out naked.

Scorpia caught them before they could hit the floor or get cut on any of the glass washing around her ankles. 

Gosh! Close up, without the tank between them, the child really, really, really looked like Hordak. Like, exactly! Well, of course, they would. They were his clone! All they needed was to grow up a decade and cut their hair. They really were just a baby-Hordak. 

Why was Entrapta making a baby-Hordak?

But Scorpia could ponder that later. Holding them now, she realized very quickly that they weren’t breathing! 

Kicking the broken glass out of the way, she gently laid the clone on the floor and tried to open their mouth with her pincers. But all she succeeded in doing was nicking their upper lip, dark violet blood trickling from the small cut. 

At a bit of a loss as to what to do, she looked to Imp for help. “They’re not breathing!”

Imp fluttered next to the body. Up close they smelled less like a composite of master’s and Entrapta’s scents. The two mingled together almost equally to form something new and unique. Something its own. Not Master. Not Princess. Other. New. Not master, but from master. 

With his tiny hands, Imp opened the clone’s mouth for Scorpia. 

She breathed into the clone’s mouth. Two deep breaths. Then began pressing on his chest. Counting as she did so. Thirty chest compressions. Before she was asking Imp to open their mouth again to give them more breath. 

Scorpia didn’t know how many times she repeated this, but eventually the clone gasped. Breathing on their own for the first time in their –admittedly short thus far- life. 

…


	3. Last Lash of a Dying Beast

Glimmer’s reflection gazed despondently back at her from the surface of her drink. She ran a finger around the rim of the glass. A sparkling wine. White wine, technically golden in color. The light and tiny bubbles in her reflection just seeming to add to Glimmer’s own natural sparkle. 

All around her everyone was happy. They just defeated the Horde. Hordak’s Sanctum was destroyed, the literal heart of Horde Command was gone –along with its Commander by all reports. Lord Hordak was nowhere to be found. The Horde was no more. They had won! 

Glimmer should be happy. 

Lifting her head from her glass of undrunk wine, she looked at the empty seat next to her. 

The Queen’s seat at the high table. Angella’s seat. Her mother’s seat. 

Empty. 

At first Glimmer didn’t want to believe Adora when she said Queen Angella was gone. Trapped in the portal between worlds. After all, Angella hadn’t come with them to Horde Command. When Glimmer and Shadow Weaver teleported out of Bright Moon, they left Angella behind. She couldn’t have been there. She shouldn’t have been there! 

And the story Adora told! It was so absurd! An alternate reality created by the portal collapsing. Reality constantly changing and re-writing itself as time collapsed. The only two people left at the end of the world were Adora and Angella, and whoever removed the sword was doomed to stay. It was completely ridiculous! 

Glimmer did not want to believe it.

She flitted and flashed through the whole palace, teleporting in and out of every room, corridor, chamber, hallway, workroom, storeroom, basement, and attic. She looked in the kitchens, she looked in the stables, she looked in the throne room, in the council chamber, in her mother’s private rooms, in her own private rooms, Adora’s room, Bow’s room, the spare room they repurposed as a prison cell. Everywhere. Glimmer looked everywhere for her mother. 

But Queen Angella was nowhere to be found. 

As Adora said, she was gone. 

Not dead. Not technically. But still just as permanently gone. 

It was hard for her to celebrate the defeat of the Horde when it came with such a high personal cost to herself. 

Bow and Adora slid in on either side of her. Adora was careful not to bump or jostle Queen Angella’s chair. 

Glimmer knew that it was not Adora’s fault that he mother was now gone. Adora had not killed her. Adora had not asked her to retrieve the sword for her. Angella made her own decision. But, still… on some level. On some low, base, and dark level, Glimmer might still blame her friend. Not consciously. Certainly not intentionally. But somewhere deep down, insulated from intelligent thought, where primal feeling reigned. 

Adora was sensitive to this and took extra care around the late Queen’s things. She did not want a repeat of her first ever strategy meeting with the Princess Alliance wherein she unknowingly sat in the late King Micah’s chair. 

Bow placed an arm around Glimmer’s shoulders. Adora reached for her friend’s hand, but the other woman pulled away. She knew Adora meant well. But she was not the one Glimmer wanted comfort from at the moment. 

Honestly, she wasn’t even sure if she wanted comfort at all. Glimmer was in a sort of numb, insulated state. She didn’t feel much of anything, because she knew the moment she started to feel things she would feel her mother’s absence, and her own guilt over the tensions and strains in their relationship. 

Adora pulled her hand away, avoiding eye-contact. 

A tense silence settled over the Best Friends Squad. None of them felt much like celebrating their victory over the Horde. 

“How’s the wine?” Bow blurted out. Desperately needing to break the atmosphere. “I’ve never had wine before. My dads don’t let alcohol in the house.”

Wordlessly, Glimmer slid her glass of sparkling white wine to him. She wasn’t drinking it. Someone should. 

Picking up the glass by its delicate stem, Bow took a small sip. Then made a face of displeasure. “This tastes like its turned.”

Wine was not as great as all the grown-ups of Etheria made it out to be. It was bitter. Almost like medicine, but without the promise of health afterwards. 

Adora reached for the glass. “Let me try.” She asked. “Before I defected, the Horde would sometimes give us beer. I wanna see how wine compares.”

When Bow passed her the glass, she chugged its contents in one long gulping sip. As if she were used to a room full of rowdy soldiers chanting ‘chug, chug, chug’ as it passed down her gullet. 

“Wow! That’s way sweeter than beer!” She announced once she was finally able to take a breath. 

“Have as much wine as you want.” Glimmer pushed back from the table. Standing, she stomped out of the party. 

Perfuma and Frosta gave her curious or questioning looks as she passed, before looking up to Adora and Bow. Silently asking if she was alright. It was not protocol for the hostess to retire from a party when its barely just begun. Not that protocol was a significant concern at the moment. This was not a formal diplomatic event like the Princess Prom. This was a victory celebration. People could do what they wanted. 

Nobody tried to stop Glimmer as she exited the great hall. 

But Adora did chase after her. “Glimmer! Glimmer, wait!”

Bow gave a bit of an awkward smile, barring his teeth at the room. “C’mon, people, this is a party!” He called over the crowd. “Turn up the music! Let’s dance! We defeated the Horde!”

Taking Perfuma by the hand, he spun the both of them until they were in the center of the dance floor. They continued to move together until others joined in, either with a partner or by themselves. Moving to the music and celebrating the fact that the Horde was gone. 

Yes, the victory was at a cost, but nothing in life worth having came without cost. There would be time to mourn Queen Angella, and after the appropriate period of mourning, Glimmer would be crowned Queen in her mother’s place. But right now was for celebrating. 

Bow dipped Perfuma dramatically, before twirling her around and letting her go. She went spinning into the arms of Mermista –whom was actually trying to fend off Sea Hawk, not catch wayward blond damsels. The two blinked at suddenly finding themselves in each other’s arms. But Mermista quickly adapted, smirking with triumph. Sea Hawk was successfully deflected. 

The musical pyromaniac sea captain looked downcast and slunk away. 

Shadow Weaver watched all of this with mild amusement. It was nice to be among young, happy people again. Everyone in the Horde was always so… grim. She stood, observing the party. Holding a wine glass of her own but unable to drink it without taking off her mask. She laughed at Perfuma’s antics and Sea Hawk’s expense. 

Castaspella slid next to her, perhaps to reconcile their difference –Shadow Weaver had been instrumental in rescuing She-Ra and defeating the Horde- or just to reminisce about the late Micah. 

The party back on track, disturbance forgotten, and everyone enjoying themselves again, Bow ducked out of the great hall after his two best friends. 

He found them both standing on an observation balcony. Glimmer, slouched over the railing, looking out over the landscape of Bright Moon. Adora standing close behind her, one arm outstretched as if to offer a comforting hand, but hesitating. 

Bow came up on Glimmer’s other side. “We all miss your mom, you know.”

“I know.” Glimmer muttered, speaking more to the open landscape sprawling out before her than her actual friend. 

“I never really got the chance to get to know her very well.” Adora admitted. Queen Angella was welcoming enough, but she always seemed to keep Adora –the defected Horde soldier- at a bit of an arm’s length. Only allowing the younger woman in past her emotional barriers at the very end, in the depths of the portal. “But she seemed like a strong woman. And she loved you very much.”

“I know that!” Glimmer snapped. Pushing off the railing she was slumped over to glare at her friend. “I know she loved me! She was my mother!”

Adora took a step back. Growing up in the Horde, emotions were seen as weaknesses. Adora never really learned how to offer comfort or support because to give comfort and support to a comrade in need was to make yourself appear as emotional and weak as they were. The idea of comforting a grieving friend was still relatively new to Adora. Something she only started learning after she took up permanent residency in Bright Moon. “Sorry, I’m just trying to help.”

Glimmer turned back to the balcony view, not wanting to look at either of her friends. “I know that. I’m not mad at you.” She tried to assure the other woman, not looking at her. “I’m just… I’m just mad. Let me be mad.”

Opening her mouth, Adora looked like she was about to say more. But Bow placed a hand on her shoulder, silencing whatever it was she was about to say before it could get out. 

“Sometimes people just need to feel things.” He told her. Then to Glimmer, “We’ll be inside if you need us.”

Bow dragged Adora back inside to the party. 

Glimmer slumped down onto the railing again, resting her chin on its smooth, highly polished surface. It sparkled almost as brightly as she did. Everything in Bright Moon sparkled. Just looking at the palace, at the water, the mountains, the Whispering Woods, one couldn’t tell that they’d just lost their Queen. 

Heck! Standing inside the late Queen’s own palace you couldn’t tell they’d just lost their Queen! Not with the way everyone was dancing and partying in the great hall. 

Glimmer hated it. 

Why should everyone else be happy when she was so very, very angry. Not at anyone in particular. Just at the situation. At the victory. At the portal. At the sword. At Hordak for inventing it. At Entrapta for making his half-assed invention work. At her mother for spending almost the entire war trying to play things safe then out of nowhere deciding to sacrifice herself in a last-ditch effort to save all of reality. 

How dare she!?

But, most of all, Glimmer was mad at herself. For constantly defying her mother. Going behind the older woman’s back. Flat out ignoring her direct orders. For making her mad and straining their relationship. So much time spent being mad at each other. So much time wasted. Now she was gone. That was time they would never get back. 

Most of all, that was what filled Glimmer with rage. 

Standing on the balcony, looking over the landscape, she thought about her mother. Were these feelings –this anger and resentment- something that she ever felt? After Glimmer’s father died, maybe? Did Angella ever feel this way? Would she understand how Glimmer felt? Could this be something they might have bonded over?

Staring out over the water, Glimmer realized she didn’t know. 

She watched the light of the moons play across the water. Even the darn water seemed to be celebrating. Rippling under the moonlight. The surface moving against the wind. The-

The surface moving against the wind! 

That didn’t happen. 

Glimmer lifted her head, eyes narrowing as she squinted across the water. The ripples weren’t from a natural current. They were surface disturbances from something else. Something moving across the water. 

It was dim outside, and she was looking directly into one of the moons. It was the night time equivalent of staring into the sun. 

But from the horizon line she could just barely make out the outlines of several skiffs. Several Horde skiffs! 

Apparently, the Horde was not quite as defeated and gone as they thought. 

With a bit of an alarmed gasp, adrenaline pumping, Glimmer teleported directly back into the great hall. 

“The Horde’s coming!” She shouted for the crowed room to hear. 

“Uh, what?” Mermista crossed her arms over her chest, skepticism dripping from every word. “The Horde’s gone. We defeated them yesterday. I’m pretty sure you were there.”

“That’s right!” Perfuma clapped her hands together cheerfully. “We saved She-Ra and defeated Hordak! It was a wonderful example of harmony and team work!”

“I kicked butt.” Frosta recalled fondly. 

Bow came up and took his friend by the hand. Expression gentle and sympathetic. “Glimmer, I get that you’re upset right now. You’re mad and maybe you feel like you need to hit something. But you don’t have to invent enemies to fight. We can-“

Whatever the end of that sentence was going to be, Bow didn’t get to say it. The building was suddenly rocked by a powerful explosion. The concussion of something hitting it –hard- and bursting on impact. 

Something like a Horde tank shell. 

Glimmer just frowned at Bow. As if to say, ‘do you believe me now?’

“I’ll get my sword.” Adora informed them. She dashed from the hall, running to her room where she left the sword of She-Ra. She didn’t think she would need it at a party celebrating all their enemies being defeated. She thought all their enemies were defeated. 

Everyone else waited. Staring at Glimmer. 

“Why’re you all looking at me?” She demanded. The palace was under attack! Shouldn’t people be doing something? Adora was doing something. She was getting the thing that made her their savior. She was acting. Why was no one else acting?

One of the Bright Moon guards cleared her throat. “We- ahm –we await your command.”

For half a moment Glimmer looked confused. 

“Glimmer,” Bow began gently, as if reminding her of uncomfortable facts she should already be aware of. “You’re the Queen of Bright Moon.”

Realization dawned on her. The Bright Moon guards took orders from the Bright Moon Queen. Glimmer had always been on the ground when the fighting came to Bright Moon. In the thick of the battle. The Princess Alliance equivalent of a ‘Force Captain’. But the Queen stayed in the palace or with the Runestone. The Queen oversaw the battle. Maintained the defenses. Commanded the palace guard.

With Angella gone, Glimmer was the Queen now. There hadn’t yet been time for a formal coronation. But for all practical intents and purposes, that was her new role. 

“To the defenses, then!” She shouted for the whole room to hear. “Guards to the walls! Bow, I want you and your trick arrows in a high place! Perfuma, on the ground. That’s where She-Ra will be when she gets her sword, she might need back-up. Netossa and Spinnerella should go with you too. Mermista, in the water. You and Sea Hawk try and stop or slow down as many of their skiffs as possible! Frosta, stick close to Bow and clobber any Horde soldiers that get close to him. Shadow Weaver-“ here she hesitated for only half a moment “-to the Runestone with me.”

“You have the command and bearing of a true Queen already.” Everyone could hear the amused smirk in the old sorceress’ voice as she glided over to stand next to Glimmer.

Another shell rocked the building just as Glimmer teleported with Shadow Weaver. 

The Runestone overlooked the whole bay. From its vantage point, Glimmer could see that the attacking Horde force was not actually as terrifying as she originally thought. 

It was comprised primarily of skiffs carrying infantry –and not even very much infantry at that. They had two ground tanks, but the treads on them were warped or even broken, and so the tank canons had instead been mounted on the skiffs. It took two of the hover-boats to support one tank. The tanks themselves were heavy and unbalanced the skiffs. The pilots were hard pressed to keep their vessels vertical, never mind move in sync with the other partner pilots sharing to carry the tanks. 

This didn’t seem like an evil onslaught attacking them at a time when their guard was down, at a party celebrating a seeming victory. This was a mad rabble of disorganized and near feral zealots bent of revenge but lacking anything actually resembling a strategy –or even much of a plan, really. 

Looking down at the bay, Glimmer didn’t know why she felt the need to bring Shadow Weaver with her. She didn’t even need to do anything, never mind borrow power or skill from someone else. 

The moment Adora appeared outside the palace, she held her sword high and shouted the words that incanted her transformation from simple Horde-defector, into the Princess of Power. 

Spinnerella threw the skiffs off course. Causing the ones weighted down with the tanks to topple over and capsize. Perfuma tangled the infantry that made it to the bank in vines. Any canon blasts they managed to get off before the tanks sank into the bay were shot down by Bow’s trick arrows. 

It wasn’t a battle. 

It was a rout. 

The Horde soldiers retreating almost as quickly as they had come. 

She-Ra managed to capture their leader before she could escape with the rest of her forces. 

Force once, it was not Catra. 

Maybe Adora was a little surprised by that –or maybe she was downright shocked. It was hard to tell when she was eight feet tall, glowing, and you had to peer up and squint to see her expression. 

The big question was, what to do with Octavia now that they had her? The space room they repurposed as a ‘prison cell’ was currently in use by Shadow Weaver –as an actual room now that Glimmer had deemed her an ally. Bright Moon didn’t have any dungeons. 

Not really knowing what else to do, She-Ra carried her inside. To the great hall the party had just vacated. For what would be a rather public interrogation. 

“I’m not saying anything!” Octavia announced after She-Ra threw her down on the –perfectly polished and sparking- marble floor. 

“T’ch, you just said something, dummy.” Frosta pointed out, unimpressed by this Horde leader. 

She-Ra reverted back to Adora. “Frosta, don’t be mean! Octavia might be a Dumb Face, but that’s no reason to call her a dummy.”

The Force Captain only growled wordlessly at that. 

“Where’s Catra!?” Adora demanded, taking charge of the… interview. She refused to call this an ‘interrogation’. This was not how she was taught to interrogate prisoners in the Horde. But the Princess Alliance always did do things shockingly different. 

“I donno. Dead, probably.” Answered Octavia, in complete contradiction of her earlier statement that she was ‘not saying anything’. 

“She’s not dead!” Adora insisted. “I saw her! She escaped with Hordak!”

Octavia blinked at that, truly surprised. She didn’t think Hordak had survived either. “Well, then she’s with Hordak. Obviously. Who’s the Dumb Face now?”

“Wait…” Glimmer pursed her lips in thought. Something not making sense. “If you thought both Catra and Hordak were dead, then they didn’t order this attack.”

Finally, Octavia caught on that she should stay true to her word and ‘not say anything’. She clamped her mouth shut. 

“The Horde’s without leadership!” Bow drew the correct conclusion anyway. She didn’t even have to say anything. 

Mermista gave a snort of humorless amusement. “They’ll tear each other apart!” She announced. “We don’t even have to lift a finger. With Hordak gone, they’ll all be at each other’s throats to try and get his job. They’ll defeat themselves for us!”

This prophesy was met with several relieved smiles. This little blip of an attack not withstanding, they truly had won. The Horde truly was defeated. Now it was time to usher in a new age of peace and renewal. 

Glimmer pursed her lips, not quite as optimistic as her fellow Princesses –she was feeling the burdens and misgivings of a Queen now. 

“You guys…” She began softly, almost as if she were afraid to ask. “If Hordak’s not leading the Horde anymore… where is he?”

…


	4. Definition of Failure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The hardest part of this chapter was trying not to mis-gender little Dak. Please let me know if I missed a pro-noun.

There were a great many things Hordak disliked. But it took a special kind of dislikable thing to anger him to the point where he could say, with absolute conviction, and without the shadow of a doubt, that he hated it! 

Traitors were very high on his list of hates. One traitor in particular. One brilliantly intelligent, irrationally positive, absurdly energetic, prehensile haired traitor. Hordak could say that he very justifiably hated her. He vowed he would see her again, and exact his revenge! 

Failure was another of his top three hates. Both the failure of his subordinates, and his own personal failures. Especially his own personal failures. He should never have trusted the Princess in the first place. He should have known better. She was originally their prisoner. What motivation did she have to help him? None! It was his own failure of judgement, failure of security, and failure to maintain boundaries that allowed her to slip in and exploit his… defects. A mistake he planned to correct in the not-too-distant future. 

But the thing that was quickly rising on his list of top three hates, the thing that was vying for the coveted spot of the Most Repugnant Thing in the Universe According to Lord Hordak… was sand! 

Hard, coarse, dusty, vile stuff! 

It got everywhere!

Stuck under his talons. In his mouth. In his eyes! But worst of all, inside the joint and delicate inner workings of his exo-suit! 

From the first step he and Catra took into the Crimson Waste, it seemed like the sand had a personal vendetta against him. Was trying to end him. If not by killing him outright, then by exposing his weakness to his companion for her to finish him off. After all, Force Captain Catra seemed to be a perfect student of Horde philosophy. Putting it into a level of practice that would make even the strict and difficult to please Horde Prime proud. 

Hordren and Red Hord would’ve liked her too. 

Hordwing and Hode would have hated her. 

But Hordak tried not to think about Hode. His old mentor. The one who’s position on Prime’s cabinet he took over after the older clone expired. What would Hode say to him now?

‘Every situation can be turned, Zero-Zero-Three. No fall is too far for one to climb back up from. Provided you are strong enough. Are you strong enough, Zero-Zero-Three?’ 

Hordak liked to think he was strong enough. 

Hode probably never had to deal with the betrayal of a- a- a useful associate he allowed to get too close. Hode never would have allowed one to get so close in the first place. To weasel her way past his boundaries and under his barriers. To give him new armor while simultaneously breaking down the other armor he’d carefully constructed around himself. An armor which allowed him to rise in rank within his division of the Empire. An armor which allowed him to ascend to a seat on the ruling cabinet itself! Hode never would have been so foolish, or so… weak. 

Hordak liked to think he was strong, but –thus far- all evidence was to the contrary. 

The wind changed, blowing a fresh cloud of dust around them. 

And this All High Host-cursed sand was really testing him! 

Hordak wrapped a hand around the opposite wrist of his exo-suit, already feeling the tingling of a malfunction coming on. He would not have a ‘tizzy’ in front of Catra. The fact that she was supposed to be his subordinate aside, she was in the position of power in this particular situation. 

She could navigate the Crimson Wastes, he could not. She knew where they were going, he did not. She was physically fit and able-bodied, he was one prosthetic suit malfunction away from being an invalid. She had a plan, while all he had was a vague demand for satisfaction from the one who betrayed him. At this moment, in this situation, Catra was the one in control. 

A fact he was sure she was just as aware of as he was. Though she had not capitalized on it yet, and Hordak had to wonder as to why. After his treatment of her over the past year, she must be harboring a grudge. All High Host knew he held a grudge against Hordren when he was still new to the cabinet and very green. Freshly promoted and newly named. Still getting used to being called ‘Hordak’ instead of ‘Zero-Zero-Three.’ 

“Keep up!” Catra snarled at him. 

She stood, silhouetted against the empty, cloudless sky. A sky that looked as dry and uninviting as the sand through which she had dragged him. Mane of hair blowing in the wind. Tail flicking back and forth in irritation. For such a clever and formidable… survivor, she was incredibly easy to read. The cat-girl was impatient and annoyed. Not exactly the image of a leader with a plan. She did not look collected and in control. She looked frustrated. 

‘Do not give into frustration, Zero-Zero-Three.’ Hode often repeated to him. Repeated to him so often, in fact, that it caused the very frustration the older clone was warning against. ‘Frustration is one of the mind killers. It clouds the ability to think.’

Perhaps that was why Entrapta’s betrayal had taken him so utterly and completely by surprise.

He had been struggling with his portal project for years. For almost as long as he had established his own little facsimile of a Horde Supremacy here on Etheria. For as long as he’d had the resources to build a portal, he’d been trying to do just that… and failing at every attempt. Again, and again, and again. He was angry, and he was impatient, and he was frustrated. 

So, when this energetic little Princess appeared in his lab and just fixed it, as if it were nothing, as if it were easy, he didn’t think twice. He didn’t question. He didn’t stop to wonder the why. All he cared about was that she could give him what he wanted, and so he gave her what she wanted. Unlimited access and resources. 

She managed to keep the ruse up for a very long time. So long, in fact that they actually created a working portal. So, long that she actually allowed him to succeed. 

Except she didn’t allow him to succeed, because that was also the day she brought the Alliance in to destroy him. 

But he would destroy her in return. He promised himself 

As she had forced him to watch the destruction of all that he cared for, his one and only way home, so too would he make her watch as he destroyed all she cared for. Her precious Princess Alliance, her home Queendom of Dryl, her laboratory, all her inventions and experiments, her notes, those blasted recordings. He would wipe her very existence from the face of this world! And he would make her watch as he did so. He would see her face as she realized that he had destroyed her. That he had taken all but her life. And when she begged him to take that as well, he would refuse. 

Entrapta was a brilliant scientist, after all. She was a valuable resource, and Hordak was not in the habit of throwing away resources. Perhaps he would present her to Horde Prime as a gift when he finally returned home. 

…If he ever returned home. 

The prospects were not looking good from his side, and there was no way for him to know if Prime received the signal from the other side. 

Trying very hard to control his breaths so that Catra did not hear him wheezing, Hordak finally crested the top of the dune they were climbing. The gasp he made had nothing to do with his lungs being desperate for breath. 

There, in front of them, jutting up from the desert, was an arrow shaped space ship. Not Horde in design. The Horde preferred sharp angles and hard lines. This one was smooth and elegant. Not unsimilar to some First Ones’ designs he’d seen. Not a Horde ship, then. A First Ones’ ship. 

“C’mon.” Catra snapped. Then was bounding down the other slope of the dune, towards the ship. 

Hordak longed for a sandworm to come up and swallow her whole. A shame the Great Makers were only native to Arakis and were not found on Etheria. We would have longed to see the cat-girl get eaten, then wash the sight down with fresh glass of Spice. 

He followed her to the ship. 

The sand had gotten in here too. 

Sand truly was a horrible thing. It was hard, and course, and it got everywhere. Hordak hated the sand. 

But there was less of it inside the ship. And, inside the ship it was cool, without the harsh sun of the Wastes beating down on them. Cool, and dim, almost dark. Not unlike his own Sanctum. It was almost homey inside the crashed First Ones’ ship, and Hordak felt himself relax before he gave his body leave to. The hand around his wrist letting go, as the tingling that was the warning sign of an episode subsided. 

Taking a deep breath of the dry air, he let his aching lungs rest for a moment before asking the necessary question. “Why have you dragged me here?”

In answer to this, Catra kicked a console and a hologram appeared. A hologram of a very familiar, two and half meters tall, shiny, Princess, savior. Except that it wasn’t the one Hordak was familiar with. The She-Ra that destroyed his portal and defeated him was former-Force Captain Adora. This She-Ra, however, identified herself as… 

“I am Mara, She-Ra of Etheria, and I am gone.”

It kept repeating. On a loop. The same sentence. She was She-Ra, and legendary hero of Etheria, but not the She-Ra he’d spent the past year being thwarted by. 

“I’m still waiting for an explanation, Force Captain.” Hordak turned –what he hoped- was an intimidating scowl at the cat-girl. “Why have you brought me here?”

Catra crossed her arms over her chest, as if she were impatient with him. As if he should just know, without having to be told. Since he did not know, it was very inconvenient for her to have to explain. 

“There’s a larger message.” She told him. “I saw it, but it was glitching. Skipping around, like an old laser disk with a scratch. I’m not techy. But you are. Fix it.”

Hordak raised one pale, waxy brow-ridge. How dare she presume to give him orders! 

Except he knew exactly how she presumed to give him orders. She might not know it yet, but one carefully placed blow from her could kill him. He was not as strong as he used to be. He had not been as strong as he used to be for a very long time. Far longer than before he began making real and meaningful progress with his portal. Entrapta might not know it, but she actually saved his life when she built the exo-suit for him. Her Alliance might have won a lot sooner, and she might not have had to betray him at all, had she not gifted him with this one prosthetic suit. 

Absentmindedly, Hordak touched a talon to the gem on his collar. A shard of a First Ones crystal in a dusky fuchsia color. Did Entrapta know truly what it was she was doing for him when she made it? Or did she just think it was ‘something nice’ that would prompt him to trust her more. Not just trust her more, but trust her completely. Because, at the end there, Hordak did trust her completely. Not just trust her, but want her. Want her there. When the portal was activated. Their portal. That they had made together. He wanted her standing next to him when that lever was pulled and the universe opened up for them. 

But she wasn’t there. 

Entrapta had been nowhere in sight. She hadn’t even showed up to laugh in his face and call him a fool for how easily he allowed himself to be manipulated by her. 

Hordak did wonder where she went. Why she wasn’t there. Even in the capacity of an enemy, she should have been there. It was a decisive moment. 

Catra impatiently tapped her foot on the sandy spaceship floor. 

Hordak lowered his hand from the crystal at his collar. There would be time to dwell on Entrapta. Later. 

“I fail to see how a corrupted message file from a long-dead speaker is of any importance.” He informed Catra. 

“Because.” Began the cat-girl in a voice similar to the one she used when she had to explain something to Force Captain Scorpia. Something Catra felt should be obvious and couldn’t understand why the other people around her weren’t getting it. “That other She-Ra mentioned a weapon. I’m sure of it. And a super-weapon is exactly what we need right now. We could defeat She-Ra and take down the whole Princess Alliance in one strike.

“Assuming you know how to use this weapon.” Hordak pointed out. 

“That all depends on what the weapon is, now doesn’t it.” Catra crooned. “That’s what you’re gonna find out. You’ve been incorporated First Ones’ tech into your experiments since before Entrapta came along. You’ve got to have figured out how this stuff works by now!”

Unconsciously, Hordak placed a hand to the crystal on the collar of his exo-suit. He hadn’t figured out the First Ones’ tech. Not really. He spent so much time and made so little progress. Entrapta was the real First Ones expert. Entrapta was what Catra needed. He was a poor substitute. 

But he also wasn’t going to tell Catra that. 

“If what you say is, in fact, true, then will She-Ra and her Princess Alliance not return to reclaim the very information we are seeking?” He pointed out instead. 

But if the Princess Alliance did come to reclaim a former She-Ra’s message, and that message was buried in First Ones’ data, they would need to bring Entrapta. If he remained here and prepared an ambush for the Alliance, then he could see Entrapta again. He could have satisfaction! 

“Which is why we’re gonna get it first!” Catra announced with a level of confidence that was completely unfounded given their combined knowledge of First Ones tech was barely above that of a child. 

Then Catra smiled a malicious little grin. One full of dark irony and her own helping of vicious satisfaction. She scooped up handful of sand up off the floor and crossed the space between them. 

“And Hordak,” she cooed up at him, almost as if with affection. “You do know what the meaning of ‘failure’ is.”

He felt a small stone of dread sink into the pit of his stomach at the question. He knew she had to be just as aware of the shift in the power dynamic between them as he was. He knew she had to be aware that she held the advantage in this particular situation. It seemed the cat-girl was capitalizing on it after all. 

“If you thought the atmosphere was problematic…” She climbed up on top of the ship’s darkened and lifeless console to close the height difference between them. She looked him dead in the eyes, mismatched heterochromia to pupilless red sclera. Face stony and impassive, she dropped her handful of sand into his exo-suit, so that it trickled under the lip of the collar bow between the suit and his already sensitive skin. “…wait until you get a load of the environment.”

The almost instant skin irritation was bad enough. But then he felt the tingling that warned of a suit malfunction. The exo-suit Entrapta fitted him with not know how to communicate with his existing cybernetic implants to compensate for the foreign irritants. Hordak tried to hold his composure as best he could. He really did. 

He still found himself leaning against the ship’s console. Using it to support his weight as his prosthetics shorted. Sparking visibly in the dim chamber. 

Still standing on the console, Catra knelt down to whisper in his delicately pointed ear. “I trust we understand each other.”

Hordak barely managed to raise his head to look at her. But he very clearly caught her toothy grin of satisfaction. 

…

It was safe to say that Socrpia had no idea what she was doing. 

She didn’t know much about children, and she knew even less about clones. In the holo-dramas she sometimes watched, all clones always came out of the tubes –or tank in Little Hordak’s case- fully functioning. Able to speak, and stand, understand language and follow commands. In the holo-dramas Scorpia watched, clones were given some kind of programming or education while still gestating. So they could function like people. 

Entrapta, however, did not appear to have done this. 

When the little Hordak-clone first began to breath, the first thing they did was cry. Loudly. 

Imp placed both of his pudgy hands over his ears and fluttered up into the rafters to get away from the sound. Scorpia similarly clapped her pincers over her ears, at a bit of a loss as to what to do. 

The next few minutes were a blur of cuddles, and cooing non-sense reassurances to the clone –whom was even more of a child than they looked- when Little Hordak was finally calm and quiet again, Scorpia turned her attention to a meaningful escape. The Alliance had beaten them, Catra had betrayed her and their friendship, original-Hordak was missing. 

Scorpia lifted the small child up into her arms and stomped from the lab. 

Imp just barly managed to swipe Entrapta’s discarded recorder as he flew to keep up with the Force Captain. If there were any answers to the question that was the young clone, it would be on that recorder. 

Scorpia carried the clone to her own quarters. Imp flapping behind them, hugging the recorder to his tiny chest. He seemed determined to stick close to the Little Hordak, almost as if they were the actual Lord himself. 

Taking a sheet from her bed, Scorpia wrapped it around the clone’s naked body. She cut the hem so they could walk on their own –assuming they knew how- and cut a hole for their head, transforming the former sheet into a kind of sloppy shift. It was red, like everything else in the Horde, a stark contrast to their whiter-than-white skin and vibrant blue hair. One might have argued that the sheet brought out the color of their eyes, except the clone’s eyes weren’t really a true red. At least, not a red the same as original-Hordak’s red. 

They still glowed slightly, as if lit from some internal light. An interesting bioluminescence not usually found on Etheria. But the color was different. While Hordak’s eyes were a primary-red, or a true-red, the clone’s were closer to fuchsia. An extremely bright pink with violet undertones. 

Scorpia sat the clone on her now bare bed and turned to pack a quick bag for herself. But she stopped when she felt something tug on her arm. It felt almost like the sheet was tangled around her. Something coiled around her forearm and pulling.

She looked back, dark eyes going wide at what she saw. 

It wasn’t the sheet wrapped around her arm. It was the clone’s blue mohawk of hair. That long tail of hair. As long as they were tall, blue and narrow, just like Hordak’s but… Scorpia looked at the hair coiled around her arm. She watched the strands move over her armor as if they had a mind of their own. She felt them try and tug her back, closer to the clone. Hair that functioned the same as any limb. Prehensile hair. Just like Entrapta! They looked like Hordak, but they had Entrapta’s prehensile hair! Maybe not the same color or style, but the same physical capabilities. 

So… not a true clone, then. A combination of the two of them. An amalgamation. A composite. 

An offspring. 

Scropia hadn’t found Entrapta’s last experiment, she found Entrapta’s child! Entrapta’s child with Hordak. –Gross.- Scorpia inwardly cringed, there was no accounting for taste. And only Entrapta would have a baby through experimentation rather than… the usual way. 

She tried to peel the hair off her arm, hooking her free pincer claw under it and all but prying the tight spiral of blue off her. It look a surprising amount of effort, the hair was stronger than they looked. But then, Entrapta’s hair had always been stronger than she looked. 

Free of the limb again, Scorpia darted around her room, throwing things messily into a standard issue duffle. Spare armor, civilian clothing, underclothing. But when she darted into her private bathroom –as a Princess she was entitled to the privilege of her own washroom and toilet- the clone began to cry. Scorpia was literally the only person they knew, and she was suddenly out of sight. 

She poked her head out from around the doorframe. “Hey, hey, I’m still here, kiddo.” She tried to sooth. “Uh, Hordak? Lord-? Little Lord? Little Hordak.”

Seeing her again, the clone gave a soft sniff and stopped crying. 

Scorpia went back into the bathroom.

The clone began to cry again. 

“Of for the love of-“ She poked her head out again. 

The clone stopped crying again. 

“This is not the best time to play Peek-a-Boo, Little Hordak.” She called to them. 

Imp fluttered onto the bed next to the clone. Partially in an attempt to distract them, he understood the necessity of getting master’s… whatever they were to master- out of the Fright Zone before an enemy, or a rival for power learned of them. But also partly because Imp was still confused by them. By this stange new organism that hatched from a Horde cloning tank, the same as master, and the same as Hode before him. The same as every Horde clone ever. And yet they did not smell like every Horde clone. They didn’t not smell like master. Not entirely. They smelled… mixed. Hybrid. Alien. 

With Imp distracting the clone, Scorpia was able to finish her frantic and haphazard packing. With the duffle thrown over her back, the strap crossing her chest, she scooped the clone back up into her arms. 

There was more than one skiff already missing when the trio made it to the hangers. It looked like Scorpia wasn’t the only one who decided to jump ship after the Sanctum blew. 

She settled the clone as best she could. Horde skiff’s weren’t exactly designed with seatbelts, but Socrpia didn’t trust the clone with his infant-like understanding of things not to fall out while she was piloting. She laid her duffel bag over their lap, hoping that would be enough to keep them in place. They were a kid, maybe they’d think of the duffle as an awkward heavy blanket. 

“Stay down, Little Hordak.” Scorpia instructed, not even sure if the clone understood or not. 

They blinked back up at her with those odd eyes. Glowing and solid sclera devoid of iris or pupil, like Hordak’s, but fuschia in color, like Entrapta’s. For half a second Scorpia wondered if they did understand. 

Then the clone smiled back at her. Smiled, as if they were not fleeing a defeated military instillation full of deserters, looters, vengeful zealots, and the very enemies that defeated them in the first place. Clearly, they did not understand as much as they thought they did. 

“H’dak!” The clone’s smile was also not like Hordak’s –not that Scorpia had ever actually seen the Lord smile. But Hordak’s teeth were red. Almost as red as his eyes, although, they didn’t glow –obviously. But the clone’s teeth were white. A perfectly normal color for Etherian teeth. Still sharp, and pointed, with elongated canines coming down into fangs. But they were not red. More of Entrapta manifesting itself in the clone. “H’dak!”

They were so utterly oblivious to the gravity of their situation. So innocent and trusting of her. Scorpia couldn’t help but smile back at the ignorant creature. “That’s right, kiddo, you’re Hordak.”

Imp shot a disapproving frown in her direction. This amalgam creature was most definitely not master! He held the recorder in his hands. The moment they were safe and not moving anymore, Imp was going to go through every sound file on the whole thing. He would dissect Entrapta’s notes until he discovered what this… what this genetic composite really was. 

“H’dak!” The clone said again as Scorpia piloted the skiff away from the Fright Zone. 

That was four days ago. 

Not knowing where else to go or what else to do, Scorpia navigated them to Dryl. It was Entrapta’s Queendom, after all, and the little Hordak clone –whom she had started calling ‘Dak’- was Entrapta’s creation. It stood to reason that Dryl would be the perfect place to taken them. 

The staff of Castle Dryl… had mixed reactions. 

Baker, Soda Pop, and Busgirl glared at Scorpia darkly. Before word of the Horde’s defeat reached them, they were –technically- under Horde occupation. Their ruling Princess having gone over to the Horde willingly. Dryl still hung Horde banners, and was still filled with Horde soldiers. Where Baker, Soda Pop, and Busgirl once served only one eccentric and only occasionally terrifying Princess, they now had to serve a whole occupying army. 

Then a Force Captain shows up out of nowhere in only a skiff, no other soldiers or guards, and a small child in tow. It was an odd event to say the least. 

The occupying soldiers’ reactions were less hostile and more confused. Not all of them had ever even seen Hordak in their lives. They only knew what he looked like from vague description. But those whom had been in the presence of the leader of the Horde definitely, definitely could recognize him. Lord Hordak was not something one easily forgets. One look at the small child holding Scorpia’s claw, and sucking on their hair was all it took for some soldiers to note the resemblance and jump to conclusions. 

The Horde was defeated. The Princess Alliance won. Hordak was killed. And one surviving loyal Force Captain escaped with a young child that could only be Hordak’s heir. 

It was the kind of story told as the prologue to an epic opera. ‘Lord of the Rings’ –Etheria version. ‘A Song of Ice and Fire’ –Dryl redux. 

Scorpia sat down with Baker, Soda Pop, and Busgirl in the kitchen. They were the highest ranked staff in the castle –the highest ranked native staff- there were higher ranked Horde Scorpia could have talked with, but that could wait. She wanted these people to know what she’d discovered first. She wanted Entrapta’s people to hear it from her, not the scuttlebutt of occupying soldiers. 

They sat at the kitchen table, using it as more of a makeshift conference table. 

“I don’t see why you had to come here!” Busgirl blurted out what everyone else was thinking. 

Baker and Soda Pop looked nervous. During her previous visit, Force Captain Scorpia had never been cruel to the people of Dryl. In fact, compared to other Horde officers, she was downright nice! Sociable and happy. Inexplicably cheerful and easy to get along with. The kind of person that put others at ease and made one forget that she was actually an agent of a tyrannical regime that was slowly taking over the planet. But, Scorpia was still a Horde officer. Testing her patience was never a good idea. 

But Scorpia didn’t seem all that tested. In fact, she looked a little… awkward. One pincer scratched at the back of her head while she looked for words to explain things. 

At the other end of the room –where there was no stove or carving knives for a child to hurt themselves on- Dak played with Imp. At least the staff assumed it was play. The little Horde-Etherian hybrid was trying to grab at the fluttering deamon. Clawing at the empty air with their tiny taloned hands. Occasionally they would make a jump to close the distance between them, but Imp just hovered higher, keeping just out of reach of the small master’s clone. 

“Want!” The child snapped in frustration, glaring up at Imp whom insisted on hovering just out of reach. They had added several words to their vocabulary over the past few days with Scorpia. It wasn’t just ‘H’dak’ anymore. Now they could convey their ‘want!’, mangled Scorpia’s name into ‘Sc’pya’, expressed their displeasure with a pitchy ‘No!’, and understood to ask the dreaded and terrible ‘why?’

It had been four days since Scorpia and Imp found them in a cloning tank in Entrapta’s old lab. In the space of four days, little Dak had gone from the mentality and understanding of a newborn infant, to that of an 18-month old toddler. Clearly, they inherited Entrapta’s intelligence. Either that or it was just a trick of the cloning process. Scorpia didn’t know enough about any of it to hazard a guess. 

Imp just chortled at the clone. Flapping over to perch atop a kitchen cabinet. He opened his mouth wide and threw the little Hordak’s own word back at them. ‘Want! Want! Want!’

In response to this taunting, Dak just growled. A low, feral sound, forming in the back of their throat. Not a sound the average Etherian could make unless they hailed from a furry sub-species. 

“Oh, geez, uh,” Scorpia was trying to explain to the staff but wasn’t quite sure how, “ya see, the thing is… Little Dak isn’t just Hordak’s, uh… Hordak’s whatever. They’re also Entrapta’s!”

All three Dryl staff looked confused. “The Princess’ what?”

Frustrated with his Imp playmate, Dak tried to climb up onto the counter, using the drawer handles as foot holds. They used their hands to brace against the wall for balance on the new, higher surface, and reached their hair up to grab the little deamon for him. The thin blue mohawk coiling around the Imp tightly, entangling the small creature as if in a tentacle, and pulled Imp down off the shelf. 

“Mine!” Dak announced triumphantly. 

Imp just gave a chirp of resignation. He was caught. But then, that was the whole point of the game, after all. Horde were predators. Since master’s… whatever they were, didn’t recive any programming during gestation, they would need to be trained the old fashioned way. Imp was just lucky that Hode made sure Imp knew what the old fashioned way was before the old clone expired. 

The staff just stared, open mouthed and wide eyed, at the child. A miniature Hordak, or so they’d been told, none of them had ever seen Hordak before. But a miniature Hordak whom also enjoyed their own Princess’ power of prehensile hair. A trait no other family on Etheria had. A trait that was unique to the royal house of Dryl. This ‘Dak’ wasn’t just Hordak’s… whatever, they were also Entrapta’s… child?

But, that couldn’t be right. It hadn’t even been a year since she was lost in the Fright Zone and joined the Horde, and this child was very clearly a decade old –in physical appearance, at least. Mentally they seemed a little over a year, but that was still too old to be the naturally begotten child born from the leader of the Horde and their Princess. Reproduction did not work that fast! 

Dak noticed everyone staring at them and bared his teeth in a challenge. Teeth that were as pointed and sharp as Hordak’s, but white and enameled as an Etherian’s. They hugged Imp tighter to them. “Mine!”

“I guess that’s a good explanation right there.” Scorpia laughed good-naturedly. As if this were just a friendly conversation and a friend’s child had just done something cute. As if a giant bombshell nobody really understood hadn’t just been dropped on the staff. When Scorpia noticed that no one else was laughing along with her, she cringed. 

“How is this even possible?” Baker approached the child. She was about to offer them a hand to help climb down off the counter, but Imp hissed loudly. She thought twice, not wanting that little deamon creature to bite her. 

Imp glared a challenge at the other too, in case they wanted to interfere with the Horde hybrid’s training too. Master’s… heir? had to learn on their own. Master’s heir had to be strong. Otherwise they would not be Horde. 

“But you get why I brought them here, right?” Scorpia asked.

All three staff exchanged a grim look. Yes, they understood. Young Hordak, second of his name, was not a lost heir of the Horde smuggled out of the Fright Zone by a loyal Captain to be raised to reclaim the thrown. Little Dak, was Entrapta’s successor, the heir to the Dryl Queendom. They were being brought home by a friend of their… (creator’s?) mother’s. 

“You did the right thing.” Baker decided as she watched the pale child climb down from the counter on their own. 

They had to let go of Imp to do it. Using both their hands, and their hair, for balance. But they made it down off the counter all on their own, and they didn’t stumble or fall once. Given more time and practice, they would become just as adept at climbing walls and sneaking through air vents as their mother. 

“H’dak!” They announced once their feet were firmly back on the floor. 

“That’s right!” Baker cooed, clapping her hands to congratulate them as if getting down off a surface without hurting themselves was a praise-worthy feat. 

Dak placed a hand to their belly, frowning as they tried to think of the correct word for how they felt. “Want.” They decided. They patted their belly to make sure the adults in the room understood. “Want.”

“Are you hungry?” Baker asked. They were already in the kitchen, she could make something easily. 

For half a moment, Dak looked confused, not sure what the grown-up was asking. They were still learning and language was confusing. “I’m H’dak.”

Imp fluttered down to perch on top of the child. The clone’s shoulder’s were much narrower than master’s. Imp could not perch on Dak the same way he perched on Hordak. The little deamon balanced on the back of their neck instead, one pudgy leg thrown over each shoulder. He looked at the Baker, opened his mouth, and repeated her own word back at her, ‘Hungry. Hungry. Hungry.’ To confirm for her that, yes, that was what master’s heir needed. 

Nodding her understanding, Baker got to work. Pulling out mixing bowls and baking pans. Flour, eggs, milk, sugar… all the things that went into her cooking for the child’s mother. 

While Baker worked, Soda Pop turned to Scorpia, a serious frown on his face. “So what’s you plan with this child?” He asked. “What are you going to do now?”

Because they might be the heir to Dryl, but they were also the heir to the Horde –assuming the Horde practiced hereditary inheritance. The staff did not like the idea of their Princess’ only child being used as a pawn in some Force Captain’s machiavellian schemes for power. 

Scorpia scratched the back of her head again. “See, the thing is… I was kinda hoping you could just take them for me?” She confessed. “Take care of them, I mean. The kiddo doesn’t know anything about anything and I can’t have a kid tagging along where I’m going.”

That was not the answer Soda Pop was expecting. He was expecting the Force Captain to invite herself to stay. Install herself as Dak’s regent until they came of age and could take over Dryl. Use the clone’s pedigree for her own ambitions. Instead she was just… dropping him off at home?

“Where are you going?” Soda Pop found himself asking. 

This time, when Scorpia answered, it was not sheepish or unsure. She did not scratch the back of her head awkwardly. She was resolved and firm when she spoke. “I made a mistake.” She admitted. “I betrayed a friend and sent her to a really bad place. I gotta go there and get her back.”

Soda Pop raised an eyebrow, genuinely curious. He didn’t know Horde soldiers had friends. Let along friendships that were deep enough to prompt someone to go on what sounded like a dangerous and possibly life-threatening quest. “Who?”

Scorpia cast a forlorn look at Dak. “Their mother.”

…


	5. Prisons and Circumstance

“Day five on Beast Island. Four? No, five.” Entrapta wasn’t speaking into anything. She lost her recorder in her lab. At least she thought she did, her recollection of events was a little spotty on the details. But she knew for sure that she didn’t have it now. She was just filling the air with her narrations and notes out of habit. “I have not seen any signs of the guards implementing my improvements to spite my multiple suggestions.”

Using her hair to lift her, Entrapta peered out her cell’s tiny window. Barely the size of her welding mask, it was too small for her to fit her body through, and it was high up, near where the wall of her cell met the ceiling. Too high to provide decent ventilation. But it was the only source of airflow in her cell in the Horde Prison Complex on Beast Island. Unless the even smaller panel at floor level they used to slide in her daily meal –meal singular- counted as ventilation. 

“They could cut down on the smell by sixty percent if they just renovated and installed an air circulation system.” Entrapta continued to narrate. She even curled a tendril of hair as if it were holding a recorder, even going to far as to leave a gap. Pantomiming the device close to her face. “Better air quality would also improve prisoner health by thirty percent and lower the mortality rate.”

“Shut-up!” Someone shouted from the cell next to hers. 

They were separated by a solid stone wall –stone, not metal paneling and insulation- but they could still hear each other through the open windows near the ceiling of each cell. Sound tended to carry in close quarters. Entrapta could hear them moaning or crying at night, and they could hear her analyzing and assessing. 

“An improvement in prisoner health will also cause an improvement in prisoner moral.” She noted. “Higher moral would mean fewer escape attempts and a lowered risk for the guards.”

“Would someone shut her up!” The same prisoner called, almost desperately. She had been monologueing for the past five days. Outlining ‘improvements’ to the prison as if she were some kind of Horde engineer that was just visiting on an inspection. Most of the other prisoners that could hear her didn’t know what to make of her. A few grew very irritated very quickly. 

“To spite these positive outcomes,” Entrapta leaned back on her hair. Almost doing a back flip as she twisted in the air, lowering herself back onto her feet, “There has been no perceptible evidence of these suggestions being taken seriously. This leads me to wonder if the guards lack the ability to understand what I’ve been telling them, or else I’m not explaining myself effectively. Communicating successfully with other people has always been… challenging for me.” 

Her shoulders drooped. That loop of hair that was pantomiming holding her recorder slackened. All of her hair hanging limp around her body. Communicating with other people and forming connections always had been a challenge for her. Not an exhilarating challenge like unraveling the mysteries of multiple dimensions and the portals to traverse them. A frustratingly exhausting challenge. Whenever she thought she understood someone, or found someone who understood her, the reality did not turn out to fit the calculated data. 

She thought Adora, Bow, and Glimmer were her friends. But then they left her in the Fright Zone after Glimmer was rescued. Adora said it was because they thought she was dead. But Adora didn’t give any evidence to support why she thought that. That was a problem within the Princess Alliance. They often just assumed things without evidence. Made hypotheses, then just decided those hypotheses were true before testing them. 

She thought Catra was her friend. Of all the data Entrapta had complied in her computer, Catra had the highest marks in all categories. In voice pitch, pupil dilation, support of Entrapta’s work (pre-portal project), physical proximity, unnecessary touching… Catra scored high in them all. Entrapta truly thought Catra was her friend. She even put forth the extra effort and went out of her way to convince Hordak to overturn his sentencing on her and show leniency. Entrapta saved Catra’s life –because that’s what you do for your friends! But Catra tazed her in the back.

She thought Hordak was her friend. Entrapta was so preoccupied with their portal research that she stopped entering data into her Friendship Assessment Algorithm, so she did not have the empirical measurements to support her, but she felt like he was a very special friend. At least, she certainly enjoyed being around him more than she did around any of her other friends. Hordak did something none of her other friends did, he shared her interests and her passions. 

Catra tried to be supportive. Going out into the Whispering Woods to get First Ones tech for her research. Coming with her on missions to study abandoned First Ones structures. Encouraging her to experiment to the fullest, like with the black garnet. But Catra didn’t really understand what Entrapta was doing. She didn’t understand the process. She mostly just appreciated the results. 

Bow understood the process. He was an amateur inventor. Entrapta thought his trick arrows were cute, and his First Ones tracker pad was a stroke of genius –when he could get it to work. But Bow thought on such a small scale. He was not on the same level as Entrapta was, and while it was nice to have a friend who understood that science wasn’t a magic spell, it was a technique for learning and discovery, it was also exhausting having to hold someone’s hand all the time. 

But Hordak… Hordak was different. He was the best of each of them. Like Bow, he understood the process. That science was a means of learning, of exploring, and then achieving. But, unlike Bow, his inventions were on the exact same level as her own. The power source he was creating when she first snuck into his Sanctum. The cybernetic implants he used to compensate for his body’s physical limitations. He was brilliant! Broody, and easily frustrated. But brilliant none the less. And he was supportive and encouraging of Entrapta’s own passion for the work. In short, Hordak was kinda perfect, and they clicked instantly. Entrapta had never related to, and connected with another person so easily and naturally in her whole life. She thought Hordak was her friend. 

But, Hordak was also the overlord of the entire Horde. 

Entrapta was currently confined in a Horde prison. 

Sure, Hordak wasn’t the one who knocked her out before she woke up here. But he was the Big Boss that everyone had to listen to. If Hordak really was her friend… why was she here? If Hordak hadn’t initially known where she was sent after she passed out, why hadn’t she been released the moment he did find out? If Hordak really was her friend, why was he letting her rot in this cell like some kind of criminal? Was he angry that she was going to tell him not to activate the portal? That she was basically telling him ‘no, you can’t go home’. 

But, she was still here. She existed, and the world existed. So, clearly, the portal had not been turned on –or if it had, someone closed it soon enough afterward. That couldn’t be why he was leaving her here to rot. 

Maybe Hordak –like Adora, Glimmer, Bow, and Catra- wasn’t really her friend after all. 

Raising one tendril of hair, Entrapta lowered her welding mask over her face. As if the visor could shield her from her own feelings. Her own insecurities. 

“Is she finally quiet?” Asked the one whom was irritated by all her notes. “Did she die?”

Another tendril of hair coiled around a non-existent recorder and she cleared her throat. “But as with any time when the quest for understanding is blocked, I will gather more data and push through!” 

“Oh, for the love of-“ Groaned the other prisoner. “Hey, hey, I’m ready to confess. Guards! I’ll confess, okay!”

Her hair once again lifting her up to the tiny window, Entrapta peered out the narrow gap. 

“Not much can be seen from my cell.” She announced. “I was unconscious when I was brought in and so didn’t get a look at the outside. But from what I can observe, Beast Island is covered in dense jungle. The trees exhibit wide trunks and dark leaves, indicating that they are either very old or else contain a high copper content –possibly both. I am yet to observe the famous beasts of Beast Island, this could possibly be due to the fact that many of them are nocturnal and the lighting outside my cell is poor at night. I have heard that the Great Beast can grow to be as tall at the trees, and I’m still optimistic to witness this phenomenal creature. Animals rarely surpass their natural environment. The Great Beast of Beast Island is anomalist. I’m very excited!”

She paused again, lifting the welding mask from her face. Entrapta looked at the empty coil of hair that was pantomiming holding her recorder. She was not actually very excited. She was not even sort of excited. 

She was exhausted from sleeping on a bare floor. She was hungry from only being served one meal a day. She was dirty from not having any way to wash herself. She was concerned for infection and other filth based illnesses because –while her cell did have a toilet- the plumbing was inconsistent and unreliable. Everything smelled bad. Between the body odor, the urine, the feces, the odors of natural decay that wafted in from the jungle. Everything smelled bad! 

Entrapta leaned against a wall, not wanting to sit on the floor, but also feeling like she needed something to support her. 

“I miss my lab.” She informed the pungent air. She wasn’t thinking of Hordak’s Sanctum, or even her lab in the Fright Zone. She was thinking of her own lab, in her own castle. High up in the mountains, mostly isolated. Her own little mining Queendom. It was small, and it wasn’t pretty like some other Princess’ domains. But it was hers. “I miss Dryl. I wanna go home.”

“We all wanna go home, Princess!” Shouted the angry prisoner that had been annoyed with her from the moment she arrived. 

Sinking down to the floor, Entrapta drew her knees up to her chest. She wondered –silently- how things might have been different if she never joined the Princess Alliance at all. If after Bow’s sonic arrow saved her, her staff, and her castle from the First Ones’ virus, she just thanked them for their contribution to her research and sent them on her way. If she had, she never would have gone with the team to rescue Glimmer. She never would have been left in the Fright Zone. She never would have teamed up with Catra and Scorpia. She never… she never would have met Hordak. 

“Hey! Leave her alone!” Shouted a second prisoner from the cell on her opposite side. “Can’t you tell she’s coping! Let the Lady cope however she needs! You cried for, like, three weeks when you got here!”

Idly, Entrapta cast a thought to her clone, still gestating in her lab in the Fright Zone. A clone she made for Hordak. 

“Oh! This from the guy who shouts in his sleep!” The two prisoners launched into an argument around Entrpata. “’Angella…! I’m not dead! I’m not dead, Angie!’ She’s not coming to rescue you, dude. Just give up like the rest of us.”

It was a private project. Meant to be a sort of ‘going away present’ for him, for when their research paid off and they were able to create a stable portal. A new body for him. She hadn’t left any kind of note for him, letting him know it was there –she wanted it to be a surprise. Hordak rarely ever left his own Sanctum. Would Hordak ever even discover it? If he did, she was confident Imp and the automated machinery he used to maintain his implants were capable to preforming the mental transplant. Transferring his mind, his memories and personality into the new body. No different than transferring data onto a new hard drive. 

“You don’t know my wife!” Insisted the second prisoner. “She’s so strong! She could stand at the end of the world and smile.”

She also hoped no one besides Hordak found the clone and let it out early or without prepping it for transfer. It was a living organism with the capacity for high-level intelligence, after all. The moment it became conscious, it would begin to learn. To fill up its own mind with its own memories, form its own personality. Evolve from a blank doll into a fully formed individual, just as unique as any being born through natural means. It would be impossible to transfer Hordak’s mind into it then. There wouldn’t be enough space for both minds. If it were a computer, it would definitely crash. An organic being with a living brain would probably have a stroke and die. 

“It’s been years!” The first prisoner reminded him. “No one’s coming to save you.”

If the clone became conscious before Hordak’s mind could be put in its body, then they would both just have to live as separate individuals. She supposed the clone could still be used for spare parts in that event. As a tissue donor. It wouldn’t cure Hordak’s illness, but replacing the damaged tissues with healthy ones could stop the progression of the degeneration. 

Of course, since the clone would be an autonomous individual in that scenario, the question of Consent did come into play. It would be ethical dilemma number… she’d lost count. 

Entrapta looked up at the ceiling of her cell. There was no way of knowing what was happening outside her four walls. There was no way of knowing what had happened to all her projects and inventions, all her experiments, or the things she cared about. Emily, the clone, and… Hordak. 

Heck! She didn’t even know what was happening with Catra and Scorpia. 

Or Adora, Glimmer, Bow, and the Princess Alliance. 

…

Bright Moon had no prison. 

But since the defeat of the Horde, their borders had been invaded by scattered remnant soldiers. Not intentional attacks like Octavia’s poorly conceived and impotently executed last ditch attack. Scattered individuals or small groups. Deserters breaking into homes to steal food or valuables. Small groups rolling into villages and declaring themselves the new town rulers. 

People who had lied their whole lives in a strength based culture, who had been taught from infancy that the strongest fighter, or the soldier with the biggest weapon could do whatever they wanted and those that were weaker had to serve them. 

Glimmer, Adora, and Bow spent a great deal of their time traveling Bright Moon, going from village to village to village cleaning up these messes. 

At first they were just chasing them away. Pushing the Horde remnants out of Bright Moon. 

But that just meant they were going into other Princess’ Queendoms. Doing the same things just as a different Princess’ problem. The Princess Alliance was basically playing Hot Potato with remnant Horde bandits. That was something that couldn’t continue. 

Bright Moon never had any prisons before. But Glimmer was building one now. 

Not even formally coroneted as Queen yet, and she was already implementing new policy that would have been unheard of in her mother’s time. In Queen Angella’s day, imprisoning wrong doers was just not done. People who did wrong, who committed crimes, who hurt others were educated, rehabilitated, given counseling or job training to mend whatever way Bright Moon society had failed them that drove them to harm others. The people of Bright Moon believed that crime was a symptom of a failure in the government to provide for its people, not solely a failure of the person. 

But the Horde bandits that came in were not members of Bright Moon society. It was not Bright Moon that failed them. And there were too many of them for Glimmer to try and fix. 

So, she ordered a prison be built to hold them. Scavenging metals from the destroyed Horde tanks and skiffs from both attacks on Bright Moon. 

She made sure the cells were equipped with all the necessities. Proper ventilation and air flow, beds with foam mattresses for rest, flush toilets so the guards did not have to escort them to and from restrooms at all hours of the day, a small utilitarian sink so they could wash their hands and keep themselves clean, sound insulated walls so they couldn’t talk to one another and collaborate escape attempts. Glimmer was working through andger and grief over the loss of her mother, while also trying to function under the pressure to be a good Queen her mother could be proud of. That didn’t mean she was going to be cruel. 

When construction was done, Adora commented that –aside from the fact that they were single cells, not shared dormitories- they were almost identical to the accommodations in the soldier barracks in the Fright Zone. The only significant difference was that the prisoners could not let themselves out of their cells, while Adora was always free to leave her barracks whenever she liked. 

Octavia and her routed soldiers with the first residents of the newly minted prison –which someone had called ‘Moon Shadow’, probably not originally meaning to be serious. But the name stuck and became official. Moon Shadow Prison. 

The Princess’ of other Queendoms built similar holding facilities for their own Horde bandits that stirred up trouble on their lands. Perfuma constructing hers out of tangling vines and dense trees. Frosta created an ice fortress. Mermista, a stronghold of coral caverns that were filled with air. 

The only Queendom that did not build a new prison for Horde defectors or rouge Horde bandits, was Dryl. 

Dryl was still under Horde occupation when Hordak’s Sanctum blew and the leader of the Horde disappeared. It was still under Horde control now. Flying Horde banners, the borders patrolled by Horde patrols. At an outside glance, one couldn’t tell they were even aware of the Horde’s defeat at all. 

There was a rumor that Dryl was where Hordak had retreated to. Traders and travelers reported seeing Hordak’s deamon, Imp, lurking the labyrinthine corridors of the castle, or staring down from the ramparts. Spying on them for his master. Or heard the guards talk about how Hordak was brought to the castle by a loyal Force Captain. 

That was another concern that weighed on Glimmer. None of them knew what happened to Hordak after the Sanctum blew. They knew he wasn’t dead. Adora saw him escape with Catra. Was Catra the loyal Force Captain that brought him to Dryl? Should Dryl be where they look to for the next attack from the relentless overlord and his stubborn, relentless subordinate? 

Should they try and sneak into Dryl? Spy on Hordak and Catra. Get an idea of their plan.

Glimmer couldn’t. She had to stay in Bright Moon. The Queendom was still observing its traditional period of mourning, so she had not been crowned Queen in any official capacity. But It was still Glimmer’s responsibility to oversee the safety of her domain, inside and out. She could not leave while bandits roamed the woods and raided villages. 

Angella told Adora that she always stayed behind out of fear and cowardice. That might very well have been true. But that did not invalidate the fact that someone also had to stay and protect the home front. It was not cowardice. It was responsible. 

“I’ll go.” Adora volunteered. After standing next to Glimmer through what must have been the hundredth boring report of the day. 

Who knew trying to solidify lasting peace could be so tedious? Maybe Adora wanted a dangerous adventure. After all, danger and combat were pretty much all she’d know her whole life. That, and Glimmer had been rather cold to her since coming back from the Fright Zone. Maybe the two needed some time apart anyway. 

“I told you, you don’t have to stay through these with me.” Glimmer informed her. 

The three of them, Glimmer, Adora, and Bow were all in the throne room. Glimmer, seated on the throne, obviously. With Adora standing at a military parade rest on her left side. Bow had started off standing at Glimmer’s right, but after the first hour, he got tired and sat down on the steps leading up to the throne instead. He took notes on his tracker pad, keeping a record of all the reports, requests, and concerns that were brought before the Queen-to-be. 

Glimmer knew they were just trying to help. Her friends knew that, while he should one day succeed her mother as Queen, Glimmer never planned for it to be so soon. She was off guard and unprepared for her new responsibilities. That along was challenging enough. But she was also trying to step up as sovereign of a healing nation when she herself was still reeling from the unexpected loss of her mother. Something she had not been prepared for and had no idea how to handle. Bow and Adora were trying to help her. She understood that. 

But sometimes, their help felt too much like hovering and it was starting to get on Glimmer’s nerves. Adora did not have to stand next to her like some kind of body guard every time she held audiences. What could Adora even bring to the metaphorical table in terms of help ruling a nation? She was a soldier. Not a Princess. She might be She-Ra, but ‘Princess of Power’, was an honorary title. She-Ra never ruled a Queendom. What did Adora know?

“I meant, I’ll go to Dryl.” Adora clarified. “I’ll see if these rumors of Hordak hiding out in Entrapta’s castle are true or not.”

Glimmer frowned. Grinding her teeth behind her lips. Hearing Hordak and Entrapta’s names spoken in the same sentence… 

There was no one person Glimmer could blame for her mother being trapped inside the portal –save her mother herself. But it was Adora who left her there. It was Catra who pulled the switch and opened the portal. And it was Hordak and Entrapta that built the darned thing in the first place. There was no one person Glimmer could blame for the loss of her mother and focus all her anger and hate on. There were several people. Chief among them, Hordak and Entrapta. Just hearing their names –and hearing their names together- made the blood pound in her ears. 

Entrapta would offer her castle to Hordak. As a safe haven and new base. 

“It’s dangerous for you to go alone.” Bow stood, taking Glimmer’s stony silence as confirmation of the pseudo-Queen’s permission to send Adora on a spy mission. “I’ll go too.”

Glimmer stood from her throne. Her instinct to automatically announce that she would also be joining them on the mission. 

Except she couldn’t. Not right now. Probably not anymore. Not so long as Bright Moon needed a Queen. Maybe if she could find a reagent to rule as he proxy while she continued her work with the Alliance. But she had no regent or proxy at the moment. Glimmer needed to stay. 

She ground her teeth again. “Be carful.”

…


	6. Hordak of Dryl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always with chapters where Dak appears, correct pronouns are important. Please let me know if I misgender them.

Making it up to the Castle of Dryl was way, way easier on flying horse back! 

They didn’t have to traverse narrow mountain paths, or risk giving away their position with loud magical transformation, or use First Ones legendary Runeswords to clear away rock slides in their path. No. On the back of Swift Wind, they just flew right on up to the castle. Easy as you please. 

They didn’t go directly-directly up to the castle, of course. It was still under Horde control, after all. Not disorganized and confused Horde Remnant control. Cohesive, disciplined, consistent Horde control. The walls held sentries. Regular patrols toured the paths and trails around the castle. Someone would notice a bright, rainbow winged horse land in the courtyard. They were indoctrinated soldiers, they weren’t blind or stupid. 

Swift Wind brought them down above the castle. On the slope that hung slightly above its tallest spire. Adora and Bow dismounted and crouched low to the ground. Crawling on their bellies, they slunk up to the edge of the cliff to peer down at the castle. 

Sure enough, Dryl was still flying Horde banners. Green on green instead of the usual red on red, or red on black. The sentries on the walls wore full armor, straight postures, alert. There was no slouch in them to indicate a decline in moral. Just looking at the soldiers occupying Dryl, one would think the Horde was never defeated at all. 

That was confirmation enough for Adora and Bow that Hordak was, indeed, in residence at Dryl. 

After the debacle with the portal, Entrapta brought Hordak back to her own castle to regroup after their defeat. 

Adora remembered seeing him just before Catra pulled the switch. She didn’t think it significant at the time, after all, she was trying to stop the end of the world. But he had made some very distinct changes to his costume. The dark Lord that she couldn’t remember changing his look in all the years she’d lived in the Fright Zone had dropped the cape. Replacing it with some kind of armored frame. And front and center on that armored frame was a First Ones crystal. Adora didn’t know if the crystal served some kind of practical purpose in the armor, as a power source, possible, or whatever. But the word in First Ones writing that was inscribed on the crystal was very jarring. 

It was entirely possible that Hordak couldn’t read First Ones writing. After all, there were not very many people in Etheria who could. In fact, aside from Adora herself, she’d only met two others capable of reading First Ones interlocking, sigil-like letters. One was Bow’s father, Lance, and… Entrapta. Entrapta had to know what the word inscribed on the collar of Hordak’s new shoulder armor said. She might even have been the one to put it there herself. 

‘Luvd’. Loved. 

Entrapta and Hordak might very well be lovers. 

If they were, it made perfect sense that she would take her lover back to her own Queendom and stronghold after his defeat. 

But they still needed to get inside for real confirmation. 

For all Adora knew, it was Catra and Scorpia instead. For all Adora knew, after the defeat in the Sanctum, Catra could have staged a coup and taken over what was left of the Horde from Hordak and installed herself as Lady of the Horde. Moving the base of operation to Dryl so that Entrapta –who said Catra was her best friend according to the data- could build more weapons for her. 

“I need to get inside.” Adora whispered to Bow and Swift Wind. She had to know. She had to know if it was Catra. 

“Don’t forget, it’s a maze in there.” Bow reminded her. 

Adora just shook her head. “That doesn’t change the fact that we’ll never know what’s actually going on in there if we just stay out here.”

…

A strap of their overalls slipped down off one shoulder as Dak ran through the dimply lit corridors of the castle. They were trying to keep pace with their quarry. 

Imp was making it harder for Dak to catch him. The tiny deamon wasn’t just finding a high perch and waiting for the young hybrid to figure out how to get to him anymore. Now their hunting games had evolved into actual hunting. Hide and Seek. Chase and Tag. Games that developed the small Horde clone’s reflexes and agility. Games that taught the small Horde clone how to think quickly and adaptively, how to solve problems on the fly, and seek solutions around obstacles. 

Usually, these lessons were programed into Horde clones during gestation. By the time normal Horde clones were hatched from the tanks, they resembled the physical age of an adult in their early twenties. It was too late by then to use childish hunting games to instill these values and instincts. They were programmed at an early stage of gestation, then reinforced with physical training and conditioning after hatching instead. 

Before the degradation that plagued master first manifested, Hordak –Hordak senior- was an excellent hunter and warrior. Who excelled at tracking and cornering prey. 

He was an enviable warrior too. 

All Horde were trained in all weapons. But Hordak favored the force-pike, and the bow-staff. Melee weapons capable of parrying multiple opponents at once, while also offering a longer range than a more traditional sword –that was the favored weapon of the average soldier, or the more aesthetic and symmetrical shock-batons that Hordwing (another member of the cabinet) favored. 

Imp had absolutely no idea how he was going to drill master’s heir in weapons. He was already operating far outside his programed parameters as a deamon-class android indentured to the Imperial Horde cabinet. Deamon were not programmed with archaic childrens games in their databanks and they were not physically designed to teach combat. 

But Imp had been Hode’s deamon before he was Hordak’s. 

Hode was a member of the Imperial cabinet, and he was eccentric. All members of the Imperial Horde cabinet were a little eccentric. It seemed to be a quirk of high preforming soldiers. Only the best could be elevated to leadership positions directly under the Emperor, and it seemed to be a symptom of the best to also be a little weird. Hode’s weirdness manifested in a strange appreciation for history and art that bordered on fixation. 

The Horde, as a species, did not crawl out of the primordial ooze with a cloning tank strapped to its back. There must have been a time before the cloning tanks when the Horde procreated through more natural means. When Horde hatched from eggs instead of tanks. When Horde had to grow slowly over the years, learning with every experience as more natural organisms did. Hode went out of his way to discover the forgotten history of the Horde. Literally, going out of his way, to the planet Revena at the very heart of the Empire. 

All that he learned was saved to Imp’s memory banks. The old cabinet Lord had to install surplus memory in Imp to house it all and keep the deamon from crashing. Of all the deamon-class androids in use within the Empire, Imp was probably the most modified and most utilized beyond his original purpose. 

Imp never imagined he would actually find a use for any of the data Hode added to him. He always just thought it was the old Lord hoarding information like the information hoarder he was. 

Imp turned his attention back to his charge. To master’s heir. A Horde hatched from its cloning tank prior to the age of adulthood. Without any programing or education. They were the closest thing to a ‘naturally hatched’ Horde in several generations. Easily since Revena was deemed inhospitable. 

Dak was distracted and no longer running after Imp. 

This happened periodically. As much as Dak was master’s clone, they were also the Princess’ clone, and Imp noticed very early on that the Princess’ mind did not think in straight lines. She was easily distracted, her attention shifting focus –complete focus- to whatever new, interesting thing piqued her curiosity. 

In this case, it appeared to be a portrait on the wall. 

Imp paused in his flying, and fluttered over to perch on top of the painting’s frame. He chittered down at the young Horde clone, demanding they return to the training game. Dak would never become a strong and capable warrior if they neglected lessons that all other Horde clones already came pre-programmed with. 

Dak glanced up at him, flashing those eyes that were the wrong color. A luminescent fuchsia instead of the neon glow of primary-red. Then the hybrid went back to studying the painting Imp was perched on. Frustrated, the little deamon fluttered down to land on Dak’s shoulders and see what was so much more important than their training. 

It was an image of master’s Princess, Entrapta. Posing with two robots flanking her on either side. Entrapta in the foreground and the bots slightly behind. Imp didn’t see what was so fascinating. It was just Entrapta. Imp had seen Entrapta hundreds of times. Towards the end there, both she and Hordak practically lived in the lab. Cohabitating in a way that deviated from what was average for Horde clones. 

“Mother.” Dak informed the deamon, pointing at the picture as if there might be some confusion as to what held their attention. 

The hybrid had been expanding their vocabulary by the day, even forming simple sentences. But more than that, Dak was also developing more complicated thought. Becoming curious. About the castle, about the people around them, and about themself. The castle staff that seemed to have appointed themselves additional instructors for master’s heir in the fields of language, manners and etiquette, how to eat, how to dress themselves, and how to comport one’s self as the heir to an Etherian Queendom also spent a great deal of time telling master’s heir about the other half of their genetic template. About their ‘mother’.

‘Mother’ was an Etherian word. Imp couldn’t say that it was an Etherian concept because it was not unique to Etheria. Many races the universe over had a concept of ‘mothers’ and ‘fathers’. Of assigning different names to the genetic templates that formed an individual’s creation. There was no word of equivalent meaning in the Horde language, or if there had been, it was lost to time and disuse through the generations of cloning. Horde did not have parents. They were all siblings. All brothers reproduced from the same model. 

All except master’s heir. 

“Sc’pya-“ Dak cleared their throat to try again. It had been a couple days since they’d seen Scorpia, but their speaking ability had improved a lot in that time. They did not have to mangle her name anymore. “Scorpia left to find her. Why?”

Imp offered a non-committal shrug. He didn’t care about the actions of beings that didn’t directly affect his master or their goals and mission. The Etherian Force Captain felt somehow responsible for the Princess being sent away, to spite the fact that she was not the one to strike the blow or give the order. Imp would never understand organic beings outside the Horde. 

“Baker says I need her.” Dak continued, looking at the painting in the same way one might look at a previously undiscovered creature. With curiosity, a lack of understanding, and a desire to study and become familiar with. Actually, what Baker said was that ‘all children needed their mothers’, and Dak was one of ‘all children’. So, the conclusion was the same even if the words were different. “Do I need a mother?” 

Imp searched through his saved auditory files until he found the one syllable negative he needed to answer that question. It was Hordak’s voice that came from his mouth when he opened it to play, “No.”

“Oh.” Did the young clone sound disappointed when they said that? “Okay.”

Imp frowned. Master’s heir seemed to accept the answer, but not believe it. He searched his auditory banks for a larger sound file that might give a better explanation for the young clone. He found an old recoding he didn’t even know was still in his memory drives. “The Horde value strength above all else, Zero-Zero-Three.” A skip in the track. “You are not strong if you require my help to conceal your condition. You cannot rely on other people.” Imp replayed the last line to make sure master’s heir understood the important part. “You cannot rely on other people.”

“Oh.” Dak said again. There was a pregnant pause in which the young clone just stood there, thinking. Processing the information Imp just shared. Then their lips pulled back, white-colored fangs showing in a puckish grin. “Then that means I don’t need you to help me get into the locked room.”

Dak shrugged Imp off their shoulders and dashed off down the corridor in the opposite direction they’d originally come. 

Imp was left to flap in frustration. 

The Locked Room, was a door in Castle Dryl that no one could open. There was a keypad on the side, presumably that unlocked it and opened the door. But no one knew the combination. There was, however, a small panel at floor level that could be passed through. Dak had seen robots go in and out of it, carrying empty trays on a consistent schedule. Some sort of automated delivery system that no one bothered to turn off. Either that, or there was someone in the Locked Room that needed an empty tray brought to them three times a day. Dak didn’t know, but they wanted to know!

It was only the little hybrid’s second day in the castle when they noticed the phenomenon. They were still getting used to navigating the confusing and maze-like corridors of Dryl when Dak saw a little robot that was smaller than they were carrying an empty tray on its head. Curious, Dak followed it. Through twists and turns, down corridors and up ramps. Until the little bot disappeared through a small panel at floor level sized exactly for it that slid out of the way. The bot exited the hatch a few moments later, still carrying its empty tray. Dak followed it again, this time ending its journey through the castle in the kitchens. 

When Dak asked Busgirl about the bot and the Locked Room, all she told them was that the Princess –their mother- never planned to get captured in the Fright Zone and so never turned off her automated serving bots. No one else in the castle knew how, so the bot just kept going through the motions of its programed task. 

Which meant that whatever was inside the Locked Room was directly related to Dak’s mother. They wanted inside that room. They wanted to know. It was a desire for answers that went beyond just standard curiosity. 

Dak asked Imp to go through the hatch and unlock the room from the inside. The little deamon was about the same size as the bot and should have no problem fitting through the small opening. But Imp flat out refused. So, Dak was left to come up with their own creative solution. 

They navigated the corridors of Dryl until they came to an exit that lead outside. Dak was several floors up from their destination, but the height wasn’t much of a barrier for them. 

Climbing onto the walkway ledge, Dak leaned forward, wrapping their hair around the flagpole of one of the Horde banners that were raised all over the castle. Using their hair as a rope, the little hybrid swung themself from the walkway to the pole. Hugging it koala-style to keep from falling. Then slid down the pole, using their hair to control the speed of their decent until they reached the courtyard where the soldiers patrolled and practiced daily marching and combat drills. 

In the courtyard, off to one side, shoved in a corner, close to where the castled wall joined into the very living rock of the cliffs, was the makeshift hanger where the Horde parked and stored their vehicles. It was also where they stored their tools for repairing and maintaining the vehicles. It was the tools Dak was after. 

“Who goes there!?” A soldier snapped, hearing the noise of the little hybrid grabbing whatever looked useful and shoving them in the pockets of their overalls. 

“Hi.” Dak straightened and turned around, hands full of tools that were almost too big for their child-sized hands to hold. They curled the tail of their hair to pantomime a thumb and pointed at themself. “I’m Hordak!”

The soldier came up short, recognizing the ‘intruder’ as their Lord’s heir. She lowered her weapon, at a bit of a loss as to what to do. Was the Little Lord allowed to play with real mechanics’ tools? Should she stop them? Or would that be hindering some part of the Lord’s personal projects. The average Horde soldier did not know much about what was and was not appropriate for children. 

“Bye.” The little hybrid brushed past the soldier, their pockets and arms full of raided tools. Dak pantomimed waving good-bye with their hair was they exited the hanger. 

The poor soldier was left just blinking at the Little Lord’s retreating back. 

A few minutes later, when the same soldier hear more noises sneaking through the hanger, she assumed it was Hordak’s heir again and ignored it. Perhaps if she had checked on the second round of noises, she would have recognized the defector former-Force Captain Adora and one of her rebel conspirators, Bow. But the guard did not check, and the intruders were allowed to slip into the castle unnoticed. 

Arms and pockets full of tools, Dak marched purposefully through the corridors. As if they were confident in where they were going. 

They were confident. But they still got lost twice on the way to the Locked Room. They had gotten very familiar with the labyrinthine twists and turns –for the most part. But every now and again, when they exited out one way, and came back in another, they got confused on which way to take to get to where they wanted to go. 

It took a couple tries, but Dak finally found the Locked Room again. 

They dumped all the tools in their arms on the floor and took out the tools in their pockets. Keeling down, using both hands and their hair, Dak arranged all the tool carefully next to the panel hatch. Organizing them by shape since they didn’t actually know what half of them did. 

Turning their attention back to the hatch, Dak examined the opening. Deciding what they actually had to do in order to get inside the Locked Room. The panel had a seal around it. A metal trim that was fastened on by screws with hexagonal indents. Dak didn’t know the names of everything he’d taken with him, but they could see what fit with what. Selecting an allan wrench and began twisting the bolts. Just loosening them at first, then taking them out all together. Finally, the metal seal was able to be pulled off. 

The sliding panel of the hatch fell away almost the moment the seal was off and Dak smiled. Their hair curling and twisting with excitement. They were going to get into the Locked Room, and they didn’t even need Imp’s help after all! 

Maybe the deamon was right. Horde didn’t need help!

Dak tried crawling through the space that was made bigger by the removal of the seal and panel. 

…And got immediately stuck. 

They made a sound of distress. A loud, shrill, feral sound that came from the back of their throat. More like a predator caught in the claw-trap than a startled child struggling in a tight spot they put themselves in. 

Maybe Imp was wrong. Maybe Horde did need help. 

“Do you hear that?” 

Dak’s pointed ears twitched. They paused in their panicked keening to listen. It sounded like other people in the corridor. A guard patrol maybe? Dak rarely saw soldiers actually inside the castle. They were intimidated by the winding maze of corridors. Preferring instead to construct their own field barracks in the courtyard. 

“It sounded like a wounded animal.” Replied a second voice. 

There was a pause. 

“You don’t think… you don’t think Entrapta’s testing on animals, do you?” They sounded so concerned. 

Dak could hear footsteps now. Two pairs of boots. They must have just turned a corner. 

Then one of them gasped. “Is that a kid!?”

“Are they hurt?” Asked the other. 

“Not hurt!” Dak shouted, trying to turn their head but having trouble. “Just stuck!”

“Hang one.” Commanded one of the speakers. A gentle masculine voice, full of soft empathy and soothing sensitive tones. “We’ll get you out.”

“No!” Dak snapped. They were finally getting inside the Locked Room. They were not going to give up and let themself he dragged out by soldiers who didn’t know any better. “I want in!”

There was a silent pause from the two on the corridor side. 

Then the one with the gentle masculine voice noted, “This is Entrapta’s lab.”

There was a second silent pause. 

Then the second one, female, business-like, more militaristic, asked, “Kid, if we get you in the lab, can you unlock the door and let us in too?”

“Yeah.” Dak promised. 

“Okay. Bow, help me push.” The female commanded. 

“But what if they get hurt?” Asked the male. 

“We need to know.” The other reminded him. “Kid, we’re gonna push you from this side. Let us know if we’re hurting you.”

Dak felt hands on their feet, pushing them from the outside. Lifting their head, Dak cast their eyes around for something close enough to grab to pull themself from the inside. 

The Locked Room was not what Dak was expecting. It was dimly lit, dimmer than the rest of the castle which was already fairly dim. But Dak’s eyes adjusted quickly, the bioluminescent fuchsia sclera glowing brighter as the hybrid’s body registered the need to compensate for their environment. 

The far wall of the Locked Room was one large computer array. A massive monitor screen in the center, surrounded by several smaller screens. All of them currently asleep, the resting screen saver bouncing around their frames. There were several parts of machines arranged along the walls. Some suspended from the ceiling. Some supported in frames. Some just lying on the floor. The closest one set in a frame that was bolted down firmly was just barely close enough for Dak to grab with their hair. 

Craning their neck, Dak stretched their blue mohawk of hair to wrap around a protruding segment of broken cam shaft. 

Between the two pushing them on the outside, and Dak pulling themself on the inside, the little hybrid managed to get through the tiny robot hatch. …and the only damage was that their overalls ripped a little bit. That one strap that was slipping down their shoulder earlier breaking entirely. It hung limply down their front, making their appearance asymmetrical and making them look sloppy. 

Finally inside the Locked Room, Dak stood. Looking around in all directions. Lifting their head, turning three-hundred and sixty degrees to try and see everything at once. 

The tow that were still outside banged on the main door. “Hey, Kid, let us in. Remember. Are you okay in there? Kid?”

It took effort for Dak to pry their eyes away from all the interesting things the Locked Room held. They wanted to snoop through it all. But the two on the other side of the door were so insistent. And Dak had said that they would let them in once inside. Dak reached with their hair to hit the door release button.

The door slid open and Dak actually saw their helpers for the first time. A man and a woman. They were not wearing Horde soldier uniforms, but that could just mean they were off duty. Dak had only been at the castle for a few days and hadn’t met everyone yet. The woman was tall, blond haired, and blue eyed. Wearing a red jacket with big shoulder pads, the golden hilt of a sword just visible over one shoulder. The man was shorter than her, dark skinned, dark haired, and dark eyed. He had an open and friendly face that made Dak think they might be fun to hang out with. 

Both of them froze the moment they saw Dak. 

Expressions shifting from cautiously hopeful to downright shocked. They both looked down at Dak, their eyes wide and mouths slightly open. What? Was there something on their face? Was the hybrid dirty from squeezing through the hatch? Dak brushed their clothes off, tried righting the ripped strap of their overalls, then gave up when it just fell back down again. 

They looked back up at the still shock-faced strangers and smiled. Flashing their sharper-than-sharp white teeth. “Hi. I’m Hordak.”

The two just continued to stare at them. 

“Uh- uh- Adora…?” Began the dark, friendly-faced one.

“Yeah, Bow?” Answered the tall blond with the sword. 

“Are you… seeing the same thing I’m seeing?” His voice cracked on that last word. As if he were suddenly and inexplicably so nervous his throat was closing from a level of shock that triggered a physiological panic. 

A child that looked to be around the age of ten. Pale skinned, pointy eared, glowing-eyed, with a long blue mohawk going all the way down to their feet. Wearing dark navy overalls, over a burgundy t-shirt that looked just a size too large for them. 

“Are you seeing a kid-version of Hordak?” Asked the woman –Adora. 

“I’m Hordak!” Dak repeated, suddenly becoming frustrated with the pair. 

“Okay.” The man –Bow- sounded like he might break down into tears. “Just making sure.”

The two just went back to staring. 

Dak became impatient. “Locked Room’s open.” They pointed with the hair. The long tail of blue making a wide sweep of the room. “You wanted in too, right?”

If it was even possible, Bow and Adora’s eyes went even wider upon seeing the child-Hordak’s hair moved and shift more like an extra limb than actual hair. Prehensile hair. Like Entrapta’s. 

They each made odd croaking sounds. Mere words not being able to express the sheer mind-freezing shock they felt. 

Bow seemed to recover first. Following Dak into the lab, watching as the hybrid’s hair moved as they moved. Not like it was just hanging from their hair, but swinging like a person’s arms swing when they walk. Hordak’s face and Hordak’s body, but with Entrapta’s Princess power. A combination of Hordak and Entrapta. 

“How- how old are you?” Bow managed to croak out. The kid looked to be a decade old. Ten years. But that couldn’t be right! There was no way Entrapta and Hordak knew each other back then. Entrapta was only left behind in the Fright Zone barely a year ago. 

Hearts in their throats, both Bow and Adora watched the hybrid count on their taloned fingers. Then the child turned to them, holding up six fingers. “This many.”

“Six years?” Adora echoed, disbelieving. “You’re six years old?”

Adora wasn’t sure which part of that seemed more wrong to her. The part where a six-year-old looked like a ten-year-old. Or the part where it implied that Entrapta and Hordak had been lovers since long before she joined the Princess Alliance. Was Entrapta even ever on their side at all? Or had she always been a spy for her lover? Her lover and the father of her child. 

The hybrid blinked at them, as if not understanding why they weren’t understanding. “Six days.”

“I’m just gonna sit down…” Bow rested his weight on the closest object in the lab that looked like it could both support him, and wasn’t about to spring to life and attack him for sitting on it. 

“You can’t be only days old!” Adora tried to argue. She liked it better when she thought they were six years, it made more sense. “You’re, like, ten!”

They frowned at her. “I’m six days and three quarters.”

Bow drew in a breath, steadying his nerves and regathering his senses. “Now, when you say you’re Hordak…?” He trailed off, not actually sure how he meant to finish that question. 

“I’m Hordak.” Repeated the hybrid. 

“Okay.” Bow just leaned back against the deactivated console and listing robot he was sitting on. It seemed like the world wasn’t making sense at the moment. He decided to just roll with it and wondered if this was what going mad felt like. 

Adora cleared her throat. “Um, how? Exactly. Are you Hordak?”

“Sc’pya said that I’m-“ They were cut off when Imp flew into the room. Finally navigating his way through the castle to the Locked Room and finding the door open. 

Imp screeched loudly upon recognizing the defector Adora and the rebel Bow, with master’s heir. The little deamon went instantly on the offensive to protect master’s heir. Sounding an alarm as it attacked. 

Teeth bared. Fangs exposed. Hand out with talons extended. Imp went for Adora first. As She-Ra, she was the most dangerous. Wings flapping madly, the little deamon clawed at the former-Force Captain. The whole lab filling with his shrill screeches, almost as loud as the intruder alarm that was now blaring through the halls. 

“Imp, no!” Dak shouted at the deamon. 

But the creature just screeched in response. These were master’s enemies! He could not allow master’s enemies to get a hold of master’s heir! 

“Get it off!” Adora tried batting the deamon away with one arm while the other reached over her shoulder for the Sword of Protection to protect her from the tiny creature. 

Bow jumped off the console he had been sitting on. He notched an arrow, then thought better up it since the target was small, moving frantically, and directly in front of Adora. He un-notched the arrow and put his bow away, using the trick arrow to swat at the deamon instead. 

Imp turned his face to the archer, caught the swatting arrow in his mouth and bit down and on the thing intending to break it. The trick arrow point burst in the deamon’s mouth, covering the creature’s face in thick, viscous, concussive foam. Imp forgot about Adora and instead started clawing at its face to free itself. Spitting and scraping at the foam to try and free his optic sensors and mouth. The deamon shrieked some more, but it came out in muted gurgles. 

The deamon fell to the ground, struggling frantically. 

“Imp!” Dak went to their knees next to the deamon, using both hands and hair to help the creature free itself from the trick substance. 

Adora and Bow just stood there, watching the child try and help the little winged gremlin as if it were a dear pet, or close friend and companion. 

That was about the time the corridor outside filled with soldiers in full armor. 

“Don’t move!” Barked one soldier, presumably the leader. “Put your hands up and step away from Lord Hordak!”

It was not the wisest thing to do, but Adora snorted. “Which is it? Do you want us to step away, or do you want us to not move?”

The soldier thumbed the safety off on her weapon. “Don’t get cute with me, rebel.”

Finally succeeding in getting the foam off his face, Imp grabbed Dak by the hand and pulled the little hybrid away from the intruders. Placing the child behind the protection of the ranks of Horde soldiers –whom closed in around the heir. 

With few other options, both Bow and Adora put their hands up in defeat. 

At least they discovered who the ‘Hordak’ that was rumored have taken up residence in Castle Dryl.


	7. ...Anything at All

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had writer's block. 
> 
> So, instead of furthering the plot, here's 5,000 words of flashbacks to Hordak's early life.

Scorpia didn’t know what she would find upon her return to the Fright Zone. She really only went back because the ships in Redwater Bay already had the coordinates and course for Beast Island programed into their navigation. Etherian ships didn’t even have navigation softwear. Scorpia had no idea how to pilot a boat on her own. …Did one ‘pilot’ a boat? Or did they ‘sail’ it? ‘Row’? Hm. It might depend on the type of boat, she supposed. 

Either way, it didn’t matter. Scorpia had no idea how to pilot an Etherian boat on her own, and she similarly wasn’t too sure about the prospect of hiring an Etherian boat captain to pilot it for her. It was best to stick with what was familiar with. What she knew. Rescuing Entrapta would be problematic enough without getting unfamiliar craft or stranger boat captains involved. 

She was still –technically- a Force Captain. Scorpia walked right back into the Fright Zone. 

She was stopped within the sector. 

“Halt!” A pair of guards stopped her. “State your business in the Fright Zone.”

Turning around, Scorpia lifted a pincer as if to wave, and offered a friendly smile. “Hey. You might not recognize me if you weren’t in my division, but I’m a Force Captain. I’m just on my way to the Bay to get a ship.”

The guards did not lower their weapons. “There are no more Force Captains.”

Scorpia blinked at the pair, confused. “What? But that can’t be right. I’m a Force Captain. Catra is a Force Captain. Octavia and Grizzlor-“

“Grizzlor deserted, and Octavia’s been captured.” They informed her. “You and Catra have been missing since the Princess’ attack! How do we know you aren’t in league with the Princesses?” A pause. “In fact, aren’t you supposed to be a Princess yourself!?”

“Oh, jee, I mean… technically that’s true. I am a Princess.” Scorpia admitted. “But I’ve never been with the Alliance. And I’m not spying for them right now, or anything. I just need to borrow a ship from Redwater Bay to get to Beast Island.” Scorpia held out her claws in a pleading gesture. 

“Keep your hands up!” Both guards barked. “We’re taking you to the Commander.”

“The Commander?” Scorpia blinked as she fell into step following them. “Not Lord Hordak? Who’s the Commander?”

“Silence, prisoner!” One of them snarled. “I’m still not convinced you’re not a spy.”

They lead Scorpia through the Fright Zone. Most of the damage from the Princess’ attack was limited to Central Command and Hordak’s Sanctum. Any damage to other buildings outside of Commander was sustained during those chaotic few hours when the deserters started looting anything that wasn’t bolted down. 

The segments of buildings that were damaged looked to already be in the early stages of repair. Scaffolding being erected up their walls, or around their perimeters. Whoever this ‘Commander’ was worked fast. They must be a very practical and capable leader. But if it wasn’t Grizzlor, Octavia, Catra, or herself, who them had appeared out of nowhere to take over the Horde? There weren’t any other Force Captains that Scorpia new of. 

Who would have been in a position to seize power?

Scorpia was brought into Horde Command. Not to Hordak’s throne room. The entire Sanctum was still in shambles. They passed the lab on their way through Commander. The blast doors still broken and hanging open. Through the gap, Scorpia saw that there were still piles of rubble strewn through out the chamber. The remnants of the portal machine, fallen scaffolding collapsed monitor screens, the legs of a Horde bot sticking up at vertical angles. A Horde bot with pink and fuchsia trim. Not a Horde bot, Entrapta’s bot! Emily!

Ignoring her guards, Scorpia dashed through the broken doors into the lab. “Emily!”

“Halt!” The guards called after her. “Stop!”

Throwing debris off the bot, not caring what it was or what else she was throwing it on, Scorpia unburied the bot as best she could. Indeed, it was Emily, the Horde bot Entrapta found, reprogramed and repurposed as a companion for herself while she was in residence in the Fright Zone. 

Emily gave a subdued little wirring. The bot –she- was still active. 

“Hang on, Emily, I’ll get you out!” Scorpia promised. 

The bot gave a weak little trill of appreciation. 

But the guards seized Scorpia by both her arms. They hadn’t cuffed or bound her before, out of respect that she used to be a Force Captain and came along peacefully. Now, the two of them together forced her pincered hands into a pair of bindercuffs. 

“Let me go!” She ordered, as if she still held any kind of authority in this new and unfamiliar Horde. “That’s Emily! I have to get her out! Don’t you know who Emily is? That’s Entrapta’s bot! That’s Emily!”

They did not let her go. They did not help her dig out Emily. Instead, Scorpia was brought to a briefing room. 

Projected on the screen, was a map of the Fright Zone. Places where active construction or repairs were going on, were marked in yellow. Places where construction or repairs still needed to begin, were marked in red. There were also columns to one side of the screen detailing their inventory of weapons, ammunition, fuel, food rations, vehicles, clean water, uniforms, blankets, sanitary supplies, cleaning supplies, all the necessary items for people to live, not just serve in a military police state. 

The moment those already gathered in the briefing noted the guards had interrupted with a prisoner in tow, they shut off the briefing screen. 

Then blinked when they recognized who the prisoner actually was.

“Force Captain Scorpia!” Kyle gasped. 

Rogelio was close at his side, looking equally as shocked. 

“We thought you were dead!” Lonnie announced. 

“Hey, what are you guys doing?” To spite her concern for Emily and anxiety over not being allowed to help the bot out of the destroyed lab, Scorpia couldn’t help but smile at them. They were part of her team. “I thought I was being brought to meet some kind of Commander.”

“They brought you to see me. I’m the Commander.” Lonnie informed her. 

Scopia’s eyes went wide, disbelieving. When she left the Fright Zone, Lonnie was just a simple foot soldier. She wasn’t even a squad leader –technically- now here she was all of a sudden claiming to be the Commander in charge of the entire Horde. Scorpia looked to Kyle and Rogelio, thinking one of them might give away the ruse that this had to be. 

But they just raised their chins, as if they weren’t afraid of being rude in front of a Force Cpatain anymore. They felt safe. They worked directly under the Commander. Scorpia and Catra weren’t their superperior officers anymore. Scorpia couldn’t punish them for a perceived insult. (Not that Scorpia would, she always felt it was important for subordinates to be able to express opinions. But that was just the kind of Force Captain she was.)

She looked back at Lonnie, genuinely impressed by the other woman’s ingenuity. “Wow!” She said. “That’s just amazing! I always knew you had it in ya, Lonnie! Commander of the Horde. That’s great!”

Lonnie just raised an eyebrow. Coming from literally anyone besides Scorpia, that would have been a completely over-the-top and unnecessary reaction. In short, it would have read as fake. But Force Captain Scorpia had always been energetic, optimistic, cheerful, and, yes, over-the-top. From their first mission together when they were ‘on a boat with Catra’ Lonnie knew that any interaction with Scorpia was going to be energetic and loud. 

She waited until the other woman seemed to have calmed down enough for an actual conversation to start. “What I really wanna know is, why’d you come back to the Fright Zone after you’ve been missing this long? Where were you when we needed leadership? What was so much more important that you couldn’t come back until now?”

Scorpia’s expression fell, her happy mood at sharing in the other woman’s success deflating. She was sober, almost subdued, when she answered. “I’m not really back. I’m just passing through. There’s something I need to do, and I need a ship to get to Beast Island to do it.”

Lonnie raised the other eyebrow. “You want me to give you a ship?” She concluded. Then sighed. “Captain, did you not see all the work going on outside when they brought you here? We are trying to rebuild our Zone. Our numbers aren’t what they used to be. Half our forces have deserted, and they took more than half our supplies with them. I have food shortages, fuel shortages, and staffing shortages all over the Horde, and you want me to just up and give you one of my boats? A craft I could, instead, be using to ship in some grain, or rice, or clean water from one of our territories.”

Scorpia cringed. “Well, when you put it like that…”

Heaving another sigh, Lonnie called up the debriefing screen again. This time, instead of a map of the Fight Zone and statistics on supply stockpiles versus speed of expenditure, it was a map of the surrounding area. The Fright Zone, all the way down to the coast. From Redwater Bay, to Seaworthy. 

Lonnie pointed to Seaworthy on the map. “You can find a ship and a captain to sail it here.” She informed the other woman. “Your Force Captain badge it gold. Offer it as payment and you might actually get a competent sea captain.”

Scorpia looked crestfallen. “So, you’re not gonna help me?”

“This is me helping.” She informed the other woman. “I’m not going to give away resources that I need to keep my Horde fed while we try and rebuild something resembling infrastructure. I don’t know what you, and Catra, and Hordak were doing this whole time. But whatever it was, you left us in pieces when you all just up and disappeared.”

“What about Emily, then?” Scorpia asked. She promised the bot she’d get her out of the rubble. The moment the AI realized that it was her creator Scorpia was leaving to rescue, Emily would probably want to come along too. 

“Who’s Emily?” Lonnie blinked. She didn’t know of any soldier named ‘Emily’. 

“Entrapta’s bot.” Scorpia explained. “She’s buried under some junk in the Sanctum. You don’t even have to spare any people to help me dig her out. I can do that on my own. Just let me take her.”

“Fine. Done.” Lonnie nodded. They had no use for a single broken weapons bot. 

“Hordak really is gone too?” Scorpia asked, still kinda disbelieving. She always assumed Hordak was some version immortal. Like a vampire. He had the right look to him. All sharp fangs and glowing eyes... like Little Dak, but nowhere near as cute and loveable. (Gosh! How did Entrapta ever catch feelings for that… guy?)

“Nobody’s seen him since the Sanctum blew.” Lonnie informed her. “For all we know, Lord Hordak is dead.”

…

After days of fiddling, Hordak finally managed to get the service panel open. 

After trying every tool both he and Catra could find in the crashed First Ones’ ship –every tool that hadn’t already been looted by desert dwellers that is, and prying or twisting from every conceivable angle. After pushing random buttons on the console in case one of them was the panel release. After shouting at it, snarling menacingly, after threatening the panel’s life and the lives of its panel-wife and panel-children. Hordak finally managed to get the service panel open. 

Completely by accident. 

He was laying on his back on the floor, trying to get a better angle to try prying with a tool they’d already tried earlier with no success. The First Ones crystal on the collar of his exo-suit inched close to the panel. The crystal glowed a neon-pink for half a second, and a previously unseen crystal –no larger than a finger nail- glowed in response. There was a soft ‘click’ sound, and the panel fell open. 

Actually, it fell on Hordak’s face. 

The curses he uttered were so profane, they would have made even the malevolent Host blush. 

But when his heart rate jumped from being smacked in the face, and his blood pressure increased from his rage and frustration, it was just a little too fast for his implants or the exo-suit to compensate for and the prosthetics suffered a little ‘tizzy’. The shoulders visibly sparking as the exo-suit locked up. Preventing him from being able to move. 

Hordak laid on the floor, unable to get up for several moments until his heartrate lowered and the exo-suit unlocked. 

The first thing he did after he had motion in his arms again was touch the First Ones crystal on his collar. A gem placed there by Entrapta. 

It was the crystal that opened the panel finally, not anything he did. First Ones tech recognizing First Ones tech. First Ones tech he would not even be wearing were it not for Entrapta. In a way, Entrapta had opened the panel for him. She was still helping him, even from beyond her absence. 

And then the panel hit him in the face and his exo-suit locked up, because she was also still betraying him from wherever on this Host forsaken mudball she was. 

Hordak let out a growl of frustration and lowered his hand. 

Somehow, she managed to trick him into defeating himself. 

Entrapta didn’t even have to do anything. Not really. She let her allies in. She wasn’t even present when She-Ra destroyed his portal and one way home. Entrapta did not wield the sword of his destruction. All she did was open a metaphorical door and let situations unfold. She let him destroy himself. She didn’t even have to do anything at all!

‘If you do things right, Zero-Zero-Three, you won’t have to do anything at all.’

Somehow, Entrapta managed to master one of Hode’s more difficult lessons without having ever met the man at all.

Hordak laid next to the open panel under the console. His armor was no longer locked up, he could push himself off the floor at any time. But, for some reason, he just didn’t seem to have the will to in that exact moment. He laid there, staring up at the dim ceiling, and recalled lessons he never took the time to fully learn on his climb from Horde Soldier to Imperial cabinet. 

…

Zero-Zero-Three stood nervously at parade rest. He was all the more aware of how tight the high collar of his uniform was. He wanted to reach up a talon to unclasp one of the clasps and allow himself some breathing room, but he refrained. He was a Force Captain under the direct command of a cabinet Lord. One did not allow themselves to look disheveled within the presence of a cabinet Lord. 

The climate control system within Lord Hode’s chamber clicked on, blowing cool air through the air conditioner vents. It ruffled the tails of Zero-Zero-Three’s robe, allowing a refreshing breeze to caress the exposed skin of his thighs. It offered a little relief and Zero-Zero-Three, but not nearly enough to relax the tension in his spine. 

“You seem nervous, Zero-Zero-Three.” Observed Lord Hode, looking over the frame of the datapad he was reading. A datapad that was currently projecting the conclusions of data that Zero-Zero-Three had spent months compiling. 

Perched on the back of Hode’s chair, the Lord’s loyal deamon opened its mouth an echoed the accusation at him. ‘Nervous, nervous, nervous.’

Zero-Zero-Three opened his mouth to reply, but only a croaking sound came out. One did not admit weakness to a cabinet Lord, and nervous was considered a weakness. Instead, he said, “The information on that pad is very… provocative, my Lord.”

“Provocative.” Hode snorted. “It’s downright damning, Zero-Zero-Three.” A pause in which he just grinned a malicious grin. “It’s wonderful.”

The younger clone swallowed. Was his uniform collar always this tight? “My Lord, with that information, I am basically accusing a cabinet Lord of treason.”

‘Lord of treason.’ Hode’s deamon repeated. 

Did a little of his fear show through? Zero-Zero-Three was afraid some of his fear showed through. One did not accuse a cabinet Lord of anything. Not if they wanted to remain happy, healthy, and alive. 

Hode fixed him with a critical stare. The red glow of his eyes tracing Zero-Zero-Three’s form. Studying him from the disciplined and controlled neutral expression on his face, to the slight droop of his ears that betrayed his nerves. The perfectly starched collar of his uniform, the Force Captain badge pinned to his breast, the perfectly pressed hem of his robe, the pale skin of his exposed thighs, and his thigh-high perfectly polished boots. 

Zero-Zero-Three was a model soldier. 

Hode leaned back in his seat, tossing the datapad down on his desk. Unlike the other cabinet Lords, Hode did not dictate to his subordinates from a throne. He dispatched his staff from a work desk. He did not believe in posturing or pageantries of power. Hode believed in getting things done. 

He steepled his talons, allowing Zero-Zero-Three to stew in his own nerves for a moment longer. “Did you falsify this information, Zero-Zeor-Three?”

“No, my Lord!” The mere question launched him into a panic. Zero-Zero-Three laid his palms flat on the desk, leaning forward, almost pleading with his superior. “I just followed the data. That’s the conclusion it led me to! Lord Horrin has been secretly syphoning funds out of the Imperial Treasury and into the pockets of rebel factions all over the Empire.”

Hode smiled again. “Then why are you so uneasy, Zero-Zero-Three?”

The younger clone straightened. He adjusted the collar of his uniform, even though it didn’t need to be straightened. “He’s a cabinet Lord.”

“He’s a traitor to the Empire.” Hode corrected. “And he’s not even a smart one. You did well to bring this to my attention. You don’t have to do anything more, Zero-Zero-Three. I’ll take care of the rest. Horrin doesn’t know this yet, but by his own actions, he’ll destroyed himself.”

‘Destroy himself!’ The deamon chanted in Hode’s voice. ‘Destroy himself, destroy himself.’

…

Hordak didn’t hear anything about Lord Horrin’s betrayal for several standard Imperial months. 

Not until Horde Prime convened the court –the whole court. Not just the cabinet Lords, but all their Force Captains, Wing Captains, sub-Commanders, and Lieutenants. Any Horde clone in the Empire who held any version of what could be called ‘authority’ was commanded to attend. 

…

Zero-Zero-Three stood in an alcove behind Lord Hode. 

Large court gatherings were rarely held, and so Zero-Zero-Three rarely got to see the Grand Throne Room. 

A wide expanse of obsidian floor. Black glass kilned in the fires of volcanos. It reflected the starlights and planetary glows streaming in from the windows. Large, tall cathedral-stye windows. The walls of the chamber were more transparasteel than they were hull plating. It gave one the illusion of not being inside a ship at all, but standing out in the void of infinity. 

On the opposite end from where Zero-Zero-Three stood with the court, a narrow column of steps rose up out of the obsidian floor. As black as night, but unlike the volcanic glass, these did not reflect the starlight. All light seemed to die on their surface. A lightless, lightless, matte black, so dark one might call it ebony. The narrow stairs lead up to a throne. Utilitarian and dull compared to the rest of the splendor around it. The figure that sat upon it wreathed in shadow. The only part of their form that was visible through the veil of dark were the greaves of their armor, and just the tail corner of their cape. 

Zero-Zero-Three stared at that small triangle of green fabric, as if studying the cape were the same as studying the man. He’d never actually seen Horde Prime before. The Emperor of the Known Universe. His genetic template. 

Everyone called him ‘Older Brother’. But few had ever actually even seen him up close. 

Seeing him now, it still was not up close. 

“Lord Horrin.” Prime’s voice rang out over the wide chamber. Sounding louder than Zero-Zero-Three felt it should. And echoing oddly, though the space should have been too large for sound echoes to occur. The acoustics did not seem to fit the room. 

Horrin stepped forward, out of line from the rest of the cabinet Lords. A self-satisfied smirk on his face. He probably thought he was about to receive honors and rewards from the Emperor. It was true that Horrid had just returned from a successful destruction of a rebel base. However, while the base was destroyed, the rebel faction’s leadership managed to get away. Former-King Randor, his brother Keldor, and Randor’s Man-at-Arms, Duncan. All three of the rebellion’s leaders escaping with a level of incompetence that bordered on treason-by-proxy. 

Horrin went to one knee, humbling himself in front of Prime. Still smiling like a loyal Vulpimancer expecting a biscuit. 

“You stand accused of embezzling, spying, and consorting with the enemies of the Empire.” Prime announced, the list of crimes continuing to echo through the chamber long after the Emperor stopped talking. “How do you answer to these charges?”

Mouth hanging slightly open, Horrin just stared up at the shadowy throne. No words came from his mouth. Only a hollow croaking sound. 

A murmur rustled through the gathered court. Force Captains, Wings Captains, and sub-Commanders all whispering to one another. Asking if the accusations could be true. What was the evidence of these crimes? Horrin was a cabinet Lord. Surly he was innocent and this was just baseless slander! What reason would a cabinet Lord have to betray his brothers, his Empire, and Horde Prime whom was Brother to all. 

But Horrin didn’t offer any words to his defense. He didn’t deny the charges. Neither did he offer any context for them. Or even try to shift the blame to a lower ranking member of his staff. 

Instead, Horrin turned around, his glowing eyes fixing on Hode. 

It was rumored that Lord Hode and Lord Horrin were bitter rivals. But surely that couldn’t be true. The cabinet was a single unified force, with a single unifying purpose: to serve the Emperor and carry out his will. Surly there could be no rivalries within such a close-knit fraternity. 

Horrin’s crimson eyes blazed with hate. “I don’t know how, but I know you did this, you Old Ghoul!”

That was the only warning anyone got before Horrin was throwing his cape open and pulling out his weapons. 

Horrin preferred weapon of choice was a short curved sickle on a weighted chain. He jumped in the air, lashing out with the blade, using the chain to extend his reach. Meaning to kill Hode. Right there in front of the court. Right there in front of Horde Prime. 

Zero-Zero-Three didn’t think. He just reacted. Someone had threatened his Lord. Nobody threatened his Lord! 

Before he was even aware that he was moving, Zero-Zero-Three found himself between the two Lords. His own weapon of choice, a force-pike, in his hands. He blocked Horrin’s initial attack, knocking the sickle out of the way and coiling the chain around the shaft of his pike. He meant to yank on the chain to try and pull the weapon out of his opponent’s hands, but froze, as the realization of what he’d just done sank in. 

Everyone in the chamber was staring at him. Zero-Zero-Three could even feel Prime’s eyes on him. Glowing a low crimson smolder in the darkness he was shrouded in. His ears drooped. 

Horrin smirked a humorless smile, sharp red teeth seeming somehow sharper than the average clone’s in that moment. “Are you so feeble you need your underlings to fight your battle for you? You’re old and weak, Hode. It’s you who should be on trial here, not me!”

Zero-Zero-Three felt a hand squeeze his shoulder. That was the only warning he got before he was pulled off his feet and thrown back into the crowd. He stumbled and fell on another Force Captain, one from Horrin’s own division. 

Zero-Zero-Three didn’t know his batch number, but he recognized the variation on the uniform –a short jacket instead of a cape, and long pants instead of robes. Force Captains were allowed some liberties with their uniforms. They could augment the base design for personal preference or practicality of fighting style. (It was one of the reasons why Zero-Zero-Three no longer included pants on his. He preferred the freedom of movement mostly bare legs offered him.) This one was Force Captain Four-Zero-Eight. 

“Keep being dumb like that and you won’t last long.” Four-Zero-Eight informed him. 

Zero-Zero-Three did not need to be told. He realized only after it happened that he just called his Lord weak by presuming to defend him. Cabinet Lords did not need their subordinates to protect them. He lowered his head in shame. Lord Hode might be older than average for a Horde clone, but that just meant he was more experienced. Seasoned. Formidable. 

“Now get your head out of your cloaca and you might learn something.” Four-Zero-Eight informed him. 

Raising his eyes again, Zero-Zero-Three watched the two Lords circle each other. 

Horrin had his cape thrown back. Over his shoulders and out of his way. He was spinning the weighted end of the chain, building up its momentum so that it could hit with deadlier force. 

Hode, on the hand, kept his cape draped over him. He wore it longer than the other cabinet Lords, all the way down to the floor, and with a hood pulled over his head. When he moved, it gave the illusion that he was not so much taking steps as he was gliding across the black glass floor. A living shadow moving over darkness. 

It made it hard to see his movements or predict his attacks. 

Horrin lashed out with the weighted end of his sickle, the heavy projectile sailing through the air with enough force to break bone. 

But it hit nothing but empty air. The chain pulling taught and the weight slamming into the glass floor hard enough to crack the obsidian shine. 

Hode had jumped –jumped!- several meters in the air to dodge the attack. One arm lanced out to throw something at Horrin’s feet. A small and innocuous looking marble. It burst on impact with the dark floor, releasing a cloud of noxious smoke into Horrin’s face. 

The other clone coughed, covering his nose and mouth with on hand. Blinking his nictitating eyelid to try and clear the irritation from his eyes. He staged too close to the crowd of spectators and Four-Zero-Eight kicked him back into the center of the room. His own Lord! 

When Hode came down from his jump, he landed behind Horrin, a tiny blade in his hand. No larger than his own middle digit. But sharp, and multi-pointed like the wings on their banners. Hode carried many of them to use as throwing weapons. But he only needed one for this, and he wasn’t going to throw it. 

Hode grabbed Horrin by his tuft of blue hair, pulling his head back, and dragged the blade across his throat. 

The arterial spray made it all the way to the first row of court spectators watching the display. Dark purple blood spattering other the floor, their feet, and their uniforms. Zero-Zero-Three raised an arm to block the words of it. Blood sure could get some distance when there was a strong heart pumping it. 

Next to him, Four-Zero-Eight reached a hand up to wipe at his face, unconcerned. 

Horrin fell to the floor, bleeding out. He was dead in moments. 

Hode stood over him. Hooded and cloaked. All anyone could see of his face were his scarlet eyes glowing from under the shadow of his hood. Like a wraith from Olde Revena mythology. Darkness given physical form. 

From up on his throne, Prime clapped his hands once. A deafening ‘smack’ of a sound. 

It made Zero-Zero-Three jump. He hadn’t realized just how quiet it had gotten in the Grand Throne Room. 

Hode immediately lowered his hood, displaying his face. He was older than most Horde clones. Most clones did not live more than six to eight years outside the tanks. Battle field deaths mostly. It was said that if they survived eight years of service on the front lines, they were Force Captain material. If they made it to twelve years, they were destined for a seat on the cabinet and a name. Lorde Hode was twenty-three years out of the tank. Practically ancient! 

He dropped to one knee. Humbling himself before the Emperor. Cape splayed over the floor like a dark halo around him. Next to him, Horrin’s body continued to leak all over the floor. 

“You have killed one of your fellow cabinet members.” Prime informed him. 

Hode did not look up. He kept his head down. Even so, one could hear the mocking contempt in his voice. “A misunderstanding. I was under the impression he was a traitor to you… my Brother.”

There was the heartbeat of a pause, and Zero-Zero-Three feared Prime might order his Lord’s execution as well. After all, one did not threaten cabinet Lords if they wanted to remain among the living. 

Then a short bark of a laugh issued from the throne. “Bah. He was weak. Killed by an old man. If you didn’t do it, I would have.”

Zero-Zero-Three let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in. 

“Still,” Prime was still talking, “I’m now short a member of my cabinet.”

This statement was followed by another tense silence. Was Prime going to punish Hode after all?

Then, “Force Captain Four-Zero-Eight, you served your Lord well and preformed your duties admirably.” 

“Thank you, Your Grace.” Four-Zero-Eight replied, having to raise his voice for the sound to carry across the wide space. Funny how that unnatural echo only seemed to work if one was speaking from the throne. He stepped out from the crowd, stopping just two steps behind where Hode still knelt, and took a knee of his own. 

“Will you serve me as diligently and loyally?” Prime pressed. 

Still on his knees, not raising his eyes, Four-Zero-Eight placed a fist to his heart. “Even more, Your Grace.”

“Then I elevate you to the vacant position in my cabinet.” Prime announced. “By what name would you like to be called?”

Zero-Zero-Three thought that was absurd. No clone could just think of a name that would be their identity for the rest of their lives so quickly. On the spur of the moment. Not when all their lives their only identity had been a number. 

“Red Hord.” Four-Zero-Eight answered without pause. Without time for thought. 

From the throne, Prime’s glowing eyes nodded. “Then I name you Red Hord, Lord of the Second Division.”

The example made, the display over with, the court was dismissed. 

With Lord Hode exiting first as he held the highest seniority of all the cabinet Lords. Then Lord Hordren falling into step behind him. Lord Hordwing third in line. Finally, the newly named and elevated Lord Red Hord got up off the floor and exited, taking up the tail position of the Lords’ procession out of the chamber. 

Once the Lords were gone, all the rest of the Force Captains, Wing Captains, and sub-Commanders moved to follow. There was far less order. They were all of equal rank and all though their divisions were better than all the others. 

Zero-Zero-Three caught up to his Lord in the corridor outside. 

“I wasn’t expecting you to become part of the show, Zero-Zero-Three.” Hode informed him. 

Zero-Zero-Three instantly demurred. “Forgive me, My Lord, I was not thinking. I was only-“ a pause as he tried to think of the correct words to describe that split second moment when all thought left his head and his body acted of its own accord “-acting on instinct.”

He risked a glance up at his Lord. 

Hode was staring at him oddly. “How strange. A Horde clone with instincts for protection.” He mused aloud. Then immediately dropped the subject. “In any event did you enjoy the show?”

“Show?” Echoed the younger clone. 

“That’s all it was.” Hode informed him. “A show. A show of power. A show of intimidation. A show of loyalty. Take your pick. But all still just a show. There was never going to be any trial here. Horrin already defeated himself the moment he became careless enough for a Force Captain who wasn’t even part of his division to learn of his treason.”

“Did you take my data directly to Prime, then?” Asked Zero-Zero-Three, genuinely wanting to know. What did his Lord do with the datapad be brought to him so many months ago?

“Our Older Brother, in his wisdom, would not even entertain such direct accusations. He knows perfectly well that his cabinet is always vying for his personal favor. He does not take kindly to those who fling accusations at their equals.” Hode informed him. Then smiled a cunning smile. “But if he were to stumble across something incriminating on his own… now that is a different animal entirely. Measure your steps carefully, and know your allies as well as you know your enemies. If you do things right, Zero-Zero-Three, you won’t have to do anything at all.”

…

Entrapta had done things right. If Catra hadn’t informed him of her betrayal, he wouldn’t have thought she did anything at all. 

Hordak was reluctant to admit it, but Entrapta made a better Horde soldier than he did. 

…


	8. Day 8 Since the Portal’s Destruction. 9? No, 8.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dak chapter. Pronouns. You know the drill.

A dented gray tray was slid into her cell via the slit at the bottom of her door. The guard banged on the heavy metal door twice just to make sure she knew it was there. Not that there was much else to distract Entrapta in her tiny cell. 

“We got a treat for you today, Princess.” The guard taunted through the metal. “Fresh fruit! Only the best for a Princess!”

Entrapta looked down at the banged up gray tray. There was a plastic cup on it that said ‘”Froot”’ in quotation marks. 

“That’s not how you spell ‘fruit’.” She informed them. 

But the guard had already moved on to distributing the rest of the prisoners their meals. “Here, Your Highness, fresh froot for you too.”

“Actually, since I’m a King, the proper term of address would be ‘Your Grace’.” Corrected the nice one who encouraged Entrapta’s coping mechanisms during her first days here on Beast Island. “Arg! There’s a bone in my froot!”

The guard’s boots could be heard walking away as they laughed loudly.

Entrapta squeezed the ‘froot’ out of its plastic cup. It had the density of gelatin, was an uncomfortable shade of blue-green, and had bits of stuff floating in it that did not look even remotely like fruit. She didn’t really wanna touch it, not even with her hair, but the guards were not obliging enough to give her a fork or a spoon with her froot. Entrapta used a single strand of hair to cut the gelatinous blob into smaller, bite-sized, tiny cubes. Tiny food. 

She ate two of the and slid the tray to the side to save the rest for later. That was the one meal she would be brought for the day. Entrapta would not be getting another until the same time tomorrow. 

They would not come by to collect the empty trays for at least six hours. 

She had been paying careful attention to their comings and goings. Noting when she could first hear them entering her block of the prison, how long they paused at each cell, the total length of time they spent in her corridor before all sound of them vanished. Entrapta had to hand write her notes, scraping them into the stone of her cell wall. But she was diligent in her data collection, and compiled everything into a conclusion that told her the guards would not be back around until it was time to collect the trays. 

Entrapta had a six-hour window. 

Cringing at what she had to do, she laid on the floor in front of the door of her cell. Her head pressed right up against the slit at the bottom that they slid the tray through. 

Her hair slithered out the slit. 

Thin tendrils inching their way over the floor to measure the width of the corridor. Along the seam between wall and floor to gauge the space between cells. Up the frame of her own cell door, searching for a lock to pick. 

The corridor was narrow. Only a meter and a half wide. The space between cells was wider than she expected. The stone of the walls must be thicker than the acoustics of her block mates implied. The lock on her door was not an analogue barrel and tumblers lock. If her hair was feeling right, the lock had a keypad. 

Fourteen buttons. Zero through nine, asterisk and pound, and ENTER and CANCEL. She ran a second tendril of hair around the small display screen above the keypad. A narrow rectangle, barely as long as the lock was wide. Too small for a seven digit code. No, it had to be four digits. A four digit code, with numbers zero through nine as options. That meant there were 10,000 possibilities for the code to unlock her cell. 

Pulling her hair back into the cell, Entrapta sat up. Thinking. She was about to start narrating, taking her notes out loud. But stopped herself. She did not actually have her recorder, so there was no practical purpose to narrating what she was doing out loud. In fact, announcing her plans and calculations could end any escape attempt before it even began. Since sound seemed to carry so well between the cells. She popped another tiny cube of froot into her mouth instead, sucking on the gelatinous goop to keep from speaking. 

She had six hours until the guard came back to retrieve the tray. Six hours was not enough time to cycle through 10,000 possible code combinations to unlock her cell, free herself, find an actual escape route when she didn’t even know the layout of the building, and get away. 

But it was enough to at least start. 

Like any good scientist, she began by eliminating the absurd. 

‘0000’ nope. ‘0001’ nope. ‘0002’ nope…

…

Now that the Locked Room was open, Dak spent the vast majority of their time in it.

The first thing they did was wake up the large monitor array that took up almost an entire wall. But the computer asked them for a password before it would let them view anything on it. After punching in random keys and still being denied access several time, the hybrid became frustrated and turned their attention to other things. The Locked Room was full of so many interesting things! They didn’t need to waste all their time growling at a computer. 

The bots were interesting. So much variety! Bots on wheels, bots on two legs, bots on six legs, bots on rolling treads. Humanoid bots, insectoid bots, spherical bots and cuboid bots! All deactivated. Dak found a humanoid one around their own size, and pulled it out to the middle of the floor to get a better look at it. 

Gears and levers in the joints for movement. Thin wire circuits traveling down the spine from the head. Several interlocking discs for a vertebra. Curved carbon fiber tubing to form a ribcage and house a gyroscope that –presumably- kept it upright and balanced when it was activated. Dak was still young and learning, they didn’t yet know words like ‘vertebra’ or ‘gyroscope’. But they looked at the parts and imagined how they were supposed to work. They had a ghost of understanding of the machine, even if they didn’t have the words to explain that understanding. 

Dak set their bag of –technically stolen- tools next to the bot. They were keeping them in a tool bag now. Heavy utility canvas sewn around an aluminum frame. As stable and sturdy as a metal toolbox, but a lot easier and more comfortable to carry around. Through trial and error, Dak had also figured out which tools were meant for what jobs, and when they needed something, they didn’t just pull everything out and make a mess. They took out what they needed for what they wanted to do.

At that exact moment, Dak wanted to take the bot apart and see exactly how all the pieces fit together. 

Whenever they removed a segment or arm, or disconnected a delicate segment of wire, or unscrewed a tiny screw, they set it aside very carefully. Arranging everything they removed next to the bot in the order they removed it. After Dak was done taking it apart, they wanted to be able to put the bot back together again. It wasn’t just senseless destruction they were after, they wanted to understand. 

Imp fluttered into the room. The little deamon flew circles around the hybrid, squawking and chittering down at the young Horde clone. 

“Go away, Imp.” Dak commanded, trying to sound like the heir to a Queendom everyone kept telling them they were. “Can’t you see I’m experting?” They meant ‘experimenting’. Dak’s vocabulary was still a work in progress. 

With a screech of frustration, Imp landed next to Dak’s tool bag and opened his mouth. It was the voice of Dryl’s Horde Captain that came out. A recording from earlier that morning when the Captain was putting her troops through their paces. ‘Heads up, ladies! This ain’t not mountain spa aerobics class, I wanna see some real Horde training!’

“Don’t want to.” Dak informed the deamon, as they –very carefully- slid a disc of the bot’s spine out from the rest of the column. Figuring out this broken robot was way more interesting than learning to march, and different ways to stand, and how to put your feet when holding a weapon, or how to hold a weapon. Now, if they would let them take apart the weapon in question instead… 

Displeased by the young hybrid’s continued disinterest in becoming a true Horde clone, Imp jumped on top of the robot Dak was working on. Placing himself between the hybrid and anything the hybrid might want to dissect next. He opened his mouth and repeated the last word again. ‘Training, training, training.’

“No!” Dak snapped. “And you can’t make me!”

That, unfortunately, was true. Unlike Baker, whom had placed herself in charge of making sure young Hordak Second of Their Name, Heir to Dryl’s education. She was determined to make sure Dak knew how to read, and write, do basic arithmetic, knew the borders of their Queendom, and the names of all the significant settlements under their rule, knew what was actually mined in the mines of Dryl, and why said mines were the basis for the Dryl economy. When Dak became board, or frustrated, escaped from their lessons, or refused to attend them at all, she would just pick the small clone up and throw them over her shoulder like a sack of flour. Imp had seen her carry four heavy sacks of flour at once –two on each shoulder. Dak was equivalent to one of them. 

Imp, however, was half the hybrid’s size. Imp could not pick Dak up and carry them to the Horde Captain of Dryl for training. And the Horde Captain of Dryl hadn’t quite figured out yet that she had the authority to force Hordak Second of Their Name to train same as any other soldier. She was still under the impression that angering or displeasing the child would anger or displease the child’s… ‘father’ (another Etherian word, real Horde clones did not have ‘fathers’). For fear of angering Lord Hordak, she let Little Dak do as they pleased –even if they pleased to take all the tools out of the vehicle hanger and never return them. 

“Get off my thing, Imp.” Dak commanded. 

The little deamon hissed. He would never dream of hissing at master like that. But Dak wasn’t master. Dak was barely even Horde! The way things were going, they were not going to become true Horde anytime soon. Those multi-racial Etherean natives marching in the courtyard were more Horde than Hordak Second of Their Name was. 

Dak just hissed right back at Imp, matching the little deamon’s tone and pitch. Not intimidated at all. 

Imp blinked at Dak for half a second. He wasn't expecting the clone to meet his challenge with one of their own. Then, Dak’s hair coiled itself around the little deamon and plucked him up off the bot the hybrid was working on. Imp screeched in protest. 

Dak set the deamon down on the floor behind them. As close to the open door as their hair could reach. 

The moment Imp was no longer bound up in inexplicably prehensile hair, he jumped back into Dak’s way. Landing on the carefully arranged pieces the clone had already removed from their project. The parts went scattering to all corners of the room. Cylinders and screws rolling beneath consoles, carbon fiber ribbing bouncing under tables, important tiny pieces getting lost in the dimly lit room. 

Dak uttered a rude word that Baker would have been mortified to learn they knew. They snarled at Imp, a wordless feral snarl. Sharp white teeth bared in anger. For half a second Imp thought the little hybrid might attack him, and he smiled. Finally, Dak was acting like a true Horde. Attack. Fight. Kill if you can. Be a predator. 

But Dak did not attack Imp. Instead, the hybrid dove after the scattered pieces. Reaching their hair under consoles, coming out with more dust and neglected debris than pieces of robot that they wanted. They crawled under a table, looking for more pieces. 

All the while, Imp flew circles around the room, squawking and screeching for the Horde clone to abandon what they were doing and go down to the yard where the Captain would drill them in marching, stance, and basic combat. 

“Go away if you’re not gonna help!” Dak shouted up at Imp from under a table. Their head banged the table they were under and everything that was on it went clattering to the floor too. “Now look what you-!”

“New project log, Day one- one? Right, first day of a new project. Day one.”

Both Dak and Imp went silent at the voice. Imp recognized that voice. How could he not? She was practically cohabitating with master at the end. Both never leaving the lab. Dak had never heard that voice before, and they inched closer to the device that had fallen from the table. Picking it up, they held it in their lap as they listened. 

“One of my new mining bots unconverted what I believe to be a First Ones disc in the mines.” Announced the voice. It was high in pitch and nasal. Female. And very energetic sounding. “Preliminary examinations show that it is still functional and running off of some internal power source. I hypothesize that studying this disc might be the key to making ancient and modern technology compatible!” 

Dak switched off the device and picked up another one. They pressed the PLAY button on that one and a different recording of the same voice began to speak. “Log, Day 104 -105? Eh. The last experiment hit a few bumps, but it was not a total failure. I made some important discoveries. The disc is way more powerful than I ever imagined. With a few adjustments, I’m sure the next experiment will be a success!”

Looking up at Imp, Dak flashed the deamon a questioning look. “Mother?”

Well, yes. That was the Princess’ voice and everyone was calling her the hybrid’s ‘mother’. To spite the fact that clones did not have ‘mothers’. So, yes, the voice on the recorder was Hordak Second’s mother’s voice. But Imp was not about to confirm that and risk distracting the hybrid even further from their training. ‘Training, training, training.’

“I don’t want to!” Dak snapped. 

Frustrated, the Imp’s eyes fell on the recorder in the hybrid’s talons. They wanted to hear their ‘mother’s’ voice. Fine. Imp would give them their mother’s voice. Imp had the Princess’ last recording. He had the forethought to grab the latest recording before he followed Scorpia out of the Fright Zone. 

Fluttering out of the room, Imp left to retrieve it. 

Dak was still trying to collect all the scattered pieces of the robot when Imp returned. Listening to random recordings out of order. “I don’t get what the big deal about the Dryl Orb is. It’s just a Rover. One of my predecessor’s less than benevolent inventions. I’ve never even had to use it. Not since the mines made the transition from slaves to my bots. The bots are so much more efficient! They don’t need to take breaks for meals or to void their bowels. They do need to recharge in shifts, but I’m hoping my research on First Ones tech will change that! First Ones power-“

Imp switched off the recorder and placed the new one in the clone’s hands. He opened his mouth and threw Dak’s request back at them. ‘Mother.’

Blinking in confusion at the deamon suddenly encouraging their curiosity, Dak looked at the new recorder in their hands. They pressed the PLAY button. 

“Ethrian-Horde Cloning Project, Day 3 -2? No, 3.” The same nasal female voice announced. A voice that Imp just confirmed belonged to their mother. Princess Entrapta of Dryl. “The fetus is developed beyond what I believe to be the final stage of gestation in an average pregnancy. The clone now resembles an infant seven months out of the womb. Fascinating! At this level of rapid growth, I hypothesize that it will enter puberty by the end of the week. Full adulthood by the end of the month! Hordak will have a new body sooner than I originally projected!”

Dak paused the recording, looking up at Imp. Confusion and incomprehension rolling across their face. “I’m Hordak.”

Reaching a hand out to the clone, Imp pressed the PLAY button again. 

“Ethrian-Horde Cloning Project, Day 4. Yup, definitely Day 4. The clone is entering its pre-adolescents now. I have never been very good at guessing people’s ages, almost as bad as I am at forming connections with other people. But based purely on physical appearance, I would place the clone’s physical age at between eight to ten years. At this rate, Hordak might have his new body before the end of the month! I hope he likes it.” A longing sigh. “He’s always so concerned with perfection and success. He’s so brilliant, but he allows himself to be handicapped by frustration. He’s too focused on results and not the process. I wonder if Hordak would think differently if he wasn’t so concerned with proving himself to his Brother. It almost reminds me of myself back when my moth- back when my predecessor was alive. Striving so hard to earn the approval of someone who doesn’t see you as an individual, but an extension of themselves.” Another sigh. “I just want him to be happy.” 

The recording lapsed into silence. That was the last audio file in the recorder’s memory. That was the last entry. 

Dak blinked at Imp, still not understanding. “But… I’m Hordak.”

‘Clone.’ Imp repeated in Entrapta’s voice. 

“I don’t know what that means.” Admitted the hybrid. It was a word no one in Castle Dryl had used around them. They learned quickly, but they still needed to be exposed to information to learn it. 

Imp scanned his audio banks for something that could explain what a clone was to the young hybrid. Even just the word ‘copy’ would be helpful. After all, that’s all a clone was, a copy of the original. Obviously, Dak wasn’t a perfect copy since they possessed very distinct Etherian traits. But the native DNA was negligible, the majority of Hordak Second appeared to be from Lord Hordak. They were a copy. 

But Imp had no such relevant or helpful audio file. So, he just repeated the word back at Dak as if the repetition would spark understanding. ‘Clone, clone, clone.’

Dak quickly became frustrated with the deamon again. “Go away if you’re not gonna be helpful!” 

They grabbed another recorder at random and switched it on. Going back to searching for their lost robot pieces while their mother’s voice played s background noise for their work.

“Princess Alliance Membership, Day 1: While I am grateful to Glimmer, Bow, and Adora for saving me from my own bots and the corrupted First Ones disc, I must admit that I am apprehensive of… mingling with a large group. Connecting with and understanding people has never been my strong suit. I fear I will not thrive well in a group setting. I function much better on an individual, one-on-one basis. Or alone. I like being alone. I’m better off alone. Bow seems nice, and he at least has a basic understanding of science and the importance of First Ones tech. Adora is a little more difficult-“

Dak paused the recording, tapping the button with their hair. They stared at the recorder. ‘Bow’ and ‘Adora’. Those were the names of the intruders! Did they know his mother? Were they friends? According to her recorder, in her own voice, she was trying to connect with them. Maybe they could tell them more about her. Maybe they could tell them what a ‘clone’ was. And, if Dak wasn’t Hordak, maybe they could tell them who this other Hordak was. 

Adora and Bow had been taken to the dungeons. Dak knew how to get there. They discovered it during one of their early hunting games with Imp. 

…

Adora was starting to feel pressure on her collar bone from her arms being suspended above her head for so long. Both she and Bow were chained up in a lower basement of Dryl castle shortly after their apprehension by the occupying Horde forces. 

Chained up in a lower basement of Dryl that did not look like a basement at all. The lighting was dim, there were chains drilled into the walls and ceiling –like the ones that held them- and there were smaller alcoves to one side with barred off gates. Cells. In short, this was not a basement. This was a dungeon. A real dungeon. Not a ‘spare room’ like Bright Moon’s first prison cell they used to hold Shadow Weaver. Or even the hastily constructed Moon Shadow prison Glimmer ordered be built. This was a real, an established, an old jail. Possibly as old as Castle Dryl itself. Built right into the foundation. 

Really threw the history of the Queendom into question. After all, Salineas, Plumeria, and the Kingdom of Snows didn’t have jails or prisons until just recently when the need arose for them. Yet, Dryl had an old and creepy looking dungeon. 

Adora pulled on her chains for what might have been the hundredth time. There was very little slack and the more she rubbed the metal against her wrists, the more she chafed. 

“How are you doing over there?” She tried to crane her neck to see around her own arm to where Bow was similarly strung up. His own chains suspending his arms above his head like hers were. Adora had a bit of a higher tolerance for this kind of treatment. Being raised in the Horde, they conditioned their young people to be able to tolerate all sorts of treatments that would be considered ‘inhumane’ by any other Queendom in Etherea. 

Bow, on the other hand, did not share her upbringing or her conditioning. “Oh. You know. Hangin’ in there.”

At least he was still optimistic and positive enough to make jokes. 

“Just waiting to hear your escape plan.” Bow announced. 

Adora had no such escape plan. “Uh… I did have a plan before we surrendered.” She confessed, recalling her spur-of-the-moment, impulse idea that she chose not to implement. Draw her sword, transform into She-Ra, grab the child that claimed to be a six-day-old Hordak, and use them as a hostage. ‘Let us go or else your Horde Princess gets it!’ “You wouldn’t have liked it though.”

“What about now?” Bow asked. 

She gave her chains another tug, already knowing the action wouldn’t achieve anything. “I don’t suppose you just so happen to have a lock picking kit hidden in your bracer?”

“Do you have a lock picking kit up your sleeve?” The archer shot back. 

The answer for both of them was ‘no’. A lock picking kit was not something either of them even carried on them at all. Never mind in such a convenient place as their sleeve or arm guards. 

Adora nodded, expecting as much. “Then we wait until they come get us. They’ll think letting us stew down here, chained up uncomfortably and denied food will soften us up for interrogation. When the guards come to get us and bring us to their Captain, that’ll be our chance to escape.” 

“They have your sword.” Bow reminded her, as if Adora needed the reminder. His bow and his trick arrows he could always make more of. But there was only one Sword of Protection. 

“We can get it back at some point during the escape.” It sounded more like Adora was making a promise to herself than trying to reassure Bow. That sword was more than just a weapon and the thing that made her She-Ra. “They wouldn’t stash it in the armory. The local occupying Captain will want to keep a close eye on it until she can turn it over to the real Hordak, or Entrapta. She’ll either lock it in her office, or else keep it on her. I’ll have to find her during the escape.”

“So, when the guards come to get us-?” Bow’s question was cut off when they head something thin and metallic crash on the floor. Clattering loudly in the dark. 

They both peered through the dim room to the wall on the opposite side. The lighting was bad and the stone was naturally dark. But they could just barely make out the rectangular opening of what might have been an air vent, and peering out from that air vent was a pair of glowing fuchsia eyes. 

“Hi.” They heard a child’s voice call through the mostly empty room. “I’m Hordak.”

Through the dark, they watched the figure of a child climb out of the vent, using that long mohawk of hair to let themself down from the tall height. The movement was measured and purposeful. The hair, and the body it was attached to, moving almost the same was Entrapta would move if preforming the same action. 

The figure and those glowing eyes drew closer to Adora and Bow. They might have seemed more like Entrapta climbing out of an air vent by their hair. But stalking through the dim light, just the outline of a person, with glowing eyes on the pink-red end of the spectrum, was very intimidating. That was all Hordak right there. 

Then they came under the beam of one of the poorly maintained light fixtures and it was once again clear that they were just a small child. No older than ten years –at least in appearance- younger than Frosta, even. They sucked on a tendril of hair as they stared up at Adora and Bow. 

The pair blinked down at them. Not sure what to make of this sudden appearance. 

“Hi.” The child said again. 

“H-hi.” Bow stammered back.

There was a beat of silence in which the three just stared at one another. Adora and Bow not being able to do much else than just gape at the child that was an amalgamation of Entrapta and Hordak. And Dak just sucking on their hair as they studied the two intruders. 

Then, “Did you know my mother?”

“Your mother?” Both Bow and Adora echoed in unison. 

“You mean Entrapta, right?” Adora asked. She needed the clarification. She still did not believe that this child that looked ten was only days old. 

Dak nodded. “The Princess of Dryl. I’m her heir, but I’ve never met her before.”

Upon hearing that, Bow’s eyes welled up with sympathetic tears. “You’ve never met your mom before? I can’t even imagine never knowing one of my dads!”

Adora, however, was unmoved. She spent her entirely life without parents. Only discovering that she might have had some very recently. This year, in fact. Many Horde soldiers grew up with out parents. That was just the way the Horde was. That was the way Hordak made it. Why should things be any different for Hordak’s… live-child? Instead, she pounced on the opportunity the child just gave her. “Yes.” She confirmed. “We were friends with your mother. She was a member of our Princess Alliance.” A strategic pause. “Before she was taken by Hordak and corrupted by evil.”

“I’m Hordak.” The child reminded her. 

Clamping her mouth shut, Adora had to do some quick thinking to avoid alienating this child that might be their best shot at an easy escape attempt. They kept insisting that they were Hordak. Yet they knew nothing of Entrapta, or much of anything else from all appearances. 

“But…” the child began, self-conscious and unsure, “…there is another Hordak.” 

Reaching into a pocket of their overall, they pulled out one of Entrapta’s recorders. 

“I wonder if Hordak would think differently if he wasn’t so concerned with proving himself to his Brother.” That was Entrapta’s voice. Listful, and longing. Like she wanted better things for the Lord of the Horde. 

“Mother is talking about the other Hordak.” The little Hordak informed them. “What’s a clone?”

It was all Bow and Adora could do to blink. 

“Uh- a clone?” Bow thought that was only theory. He didn’t think it was actually possible! Then again, if anyone was going to make viable cloning possible and successful, it would be Princess Entrapta of Dryl. 

Young Hordak nodded and rewound the recorder a little bit. “The clone now resembles an infant seven months out of the womb. Fascinating! At this level of rapid growth, I hypothesize that it will enter puberty by the end of the week. Full adulthood by the end of the month! Hordak will have a new body sooner than I originally projected!”

“What’s a clone?” They asked again. 

“Did she say Hordak will have a new body?” Adora echoed. 

She took another look at the child. A harder look this time. A child that insisted that they were Hordak. Young. Too young to be Lord of the Horde. But almost identical to Hordak in appearance. Exactly what Adora imagined Hordak might have looked like as a child. Pointed ears and glowing eyes. Vertical nasal cavity, like a bat’s or maybe a skull’s. Talons on the ends of the fingers instead of the nails. A new body for Hordak. 

Except there were inconsistencies. 

The eyes were the wrong color. Hordak’s eyes –the real Hordak’s- were red. A neon or primary red. A true red. This child’s eyes were more of a fuchsia. A vivid pink that dabbled in under-hues of purple before returning to its parent red. The hair was longer and thicker. Hordak had a mowhawk of thin blue hair. This child also had a mohawk of blue, but the texture was different. Thicker, fuller. And it was prehensile. This child’s long mohawk could be used as an extra limb. That was definitely not a Hordak trait. 

They couldn’t be a new body for Hordak. They had to be a forbidden love-child. 

“A clone is a copy.” Bow supplied an answer to the Little Hordak’s question. “It’s what you call when you made a new person that’s exactly the same as an existing person.”

He hoped that explanation made sense. Bow wasn’t sure how much of the world the child –the clone?- understood of the world. Only being several days old. 

Dak looked thoughtful. “Mother was making a clone of the other Hordak.” They mused out loud. “I’m Hordak.” A pause. “Am I… a copy?”

Adora opened her mouth to answer. 

But Bow got to it first. “Oh, no, little guy, no.” He assured the clone. “You’re you. You’re your own person, and you don’t have to be like Hordak if you don’t want to. You can be whatever makes you happy.”

The clone perked up. “Mother wanted Hordak to be happy.”

That just confirmed it for Adora. Entrapta and Hordak were lovers. She might have made a clone for the evil Lord, but this kid wasn’t a clone. They weren’t an identical copy, they were a combination. They were a love-child. She looked at Bow, to see if he was having a similar reaction to all this information that she was. 

He looked thoughtful, but not shocked or mortified. “Um, Little Hordak,” he began, “where is Entrapta –your mother- where is she?”

Little Hordak frowned. “Scorpia left to rescue her.”

“From Hordak?” Adora asked. It seemed like she managed to get through to Entrapta at the end there. That the Princess did not want to activate the portal after all. Did the change of heart cause a fall-out between the lovers? Did Hordak punish Entrapta for siding with She-Ra instead of him? She wasn’t there when Catra and Hordak activated the portal. 

“From some place called Beast Island.” Dak supplied. 

“Beast Island!” Adora was horror struck. 

“What’s Beast Island?” Bow asked, concerned. 

“It’s a penal colony.” She explained. “At least, I think it is. It’s an island in the middle of Growling Sea. There’s a prison compound on it and that’s where the Horde sends its enemies that need to be taken out of play but can’t be killed. Like political prisoners, or…” or Hordak’s lover that had fallen out of the evil Lord’s favor. Adora lowered her eyes, wondering if any of this would have happened if they hadn’t left Entrapta behind in the Fright Zone in the first place. Making a promise to herself, Adora swore not to leave Entrapta behind again. “We have to rescue her! Little Hordak-“ she quickly decided she did not like that name “-uh, Dak, if you help us get out of here, we’ll rescue your mother!”

“Scorpia already left to do that.” They reminded her. “She left me here and left.”

“Then we won’t leave you here.” Adora decided on the spur of the moment. Besides, Hordak’s child –and presumably his heir- might be useful for getting into secure Horde facilities. “You can come with us. We’ll rescue your mother together!”

“Adora!” Bow was mortified. “They are a child! A very sheltered child from the looks of it. You can’t just take them from their home and drag them half-way around the world to a penal colony!”

But Dak and Adora were ignoring him. The hybrid’s long prehensile hair reached up to Adora’s shackles. The tiny hair follicles reaching into the inner workings of the locks. Turning the tumblers until they heard a click. Adora’s chains fell open and she dropped to her knees. Everything had fallen asleep while in her suspended position, and her whole body felt like pins and needles. 

She grinned at the child. “Thanks, Kid. Now can you free Bow. We need to get my sword back and then we’ll rescue Entrapta.”

…


	9. A Kind of Poetry

Emily always had one leg that got stuck sometimes. Ever since being dug out of the destroyed Sanctum, that one leg was perpetually stuck. Emily hobbled around on two working legs with a third stuck in the same position and no more than a ‘peg leg’. With every step she took, she made a very loud and unmistakable ‘ta-THUNK, ta-THUNK, ta-THUNK’ sound. 

They received suspicious glances –or even openly hostile glares- as Scorpia walked through Seaworthy with Emily limping beside her. 

Ever since the Princess Alliance invaded and destroyed Horde Command, the way the people of Etheria viewed the Horde had shifted. Less absolute fear and submission, and more unveiled and outright hatred. The Horde was an evil militaristic machine that had been wreaking havoc on their world for at least two generations. Everyone who wasn’t Horde had good reason to hate the Horde. And the Princess Alliance very recently showed the world that the Horde were not invincible. That people didn’t need to fear or grovel to the Horde. 

When Scorpia walked through the streets of Seaworthy, the people there didn’t see a terrifying Force Captain working directly under their overlord. They saw a single soldier, alone, without backup, with only a single broken bot at her side. Scorpia met all these hostile glares with a friendly smile, or even a wave if they made eye-contact. 

She walked into the first tavern she saw that looked close enough to the harbor to be appealing to sailors coming fresh off their ships. 

It was like one of those holo-drama, when Scorpia passed through the door. Or, at least, Scorpia thought it was like one of those holo-dramas. The kind where there’s a rowdy saloon and patrols are drinking, and gambling, music’s playing from somewhere and a couple pairs might be dancing. Then the stranger walks in and everybody looks up. The floor that people had been dancing on with no sound apart from the music suddenly creaks with every step the stranger takes as everybody stares at them. 

Except, everybody wasn’t staring at Scorpia, it was just a handful of people that barley even looked up from their drinks at her. The music did not pause. The couple continued dancing. And the ominous creaking of the floor boards was actually Emily’s stuck leg going ta-THUNK, ta-THUNK, ta-THUNK as they walked. Still, when Scorpia would retell this story later in her life, she would describe it more like the holo-dramas. (She had a bit of a gift for storytelling. One time, she and Catra were on a boat! But thoughts of Catra were rather bitter sweet now. Scorpia pushed the feline from her mind.)

Scorpia walked right up to the bartender whom was drying freshly washed tankards with a not-so-freshly-clean dishcloth. Emily was right behind her, trying to look menacing with her one stuck leg. 

“Hi.” Scorpia smiled. One of her big, friendly, ‘you wouldn’t know I’m a Force Captain by meeting me’ smiles. “I’m looking for a ship and a captain. Preferably someone who’s not afraid of danger. I’m going to the Growling Sea. Well, there’s an island in the Growling Sea, I’m going to the island. I’m not just gonna sail to the middle of the sea then hang out in the water. Obviously.” She gave an awkward chuckle and widened her smile. 

The bartender was unmoved by her friendly display. She just pointed across the tavern den. Silently indicating that Scorpia should inquire at a table near the back. 

“Thank you.” Scorpia smiled at the bartender’s stoic silence and gave a bit of a wave of her claw as she pushed away from the bar and crossed the crowded space to the table. 

Who she saw there was someone she did not expect. 

“No way!”

Standing, one foot still resting on his seat in the booth, the other up on the table, one arm thrust up into the air as if striking a heroic pose, the other thrown out to the side dramatically. Wearing thigh-high boots of brown leather, over dark charcoal pants, a white shirt under a blue jacket, a red bandana around his neck. With a mustache that curled only slightly in the corners and wind-tossed hair. Scorpia recognized him the moment she saw him. He was the Inspector! Inspector Pirate. Also, the Rebel sea captain that went to Princess Prom with the mermaid princess. What was his name again?

“I’m Sea Hawk, I am, I am!” He was just finishing up what sounded like a sea shanty he wrote himself. 

Yeah. That was definitely him. 

They shared an awkward moment of connection in the Northern Reach. Bonding over how their significant partners didn’t appreciate them. Scorpia had concluded that she was strong, gave great hugs, and was loyal. She was so sure that one day Catra would see that while Adora might have left her, she never would! But that was before Catra betrayed one of their friends, then turned the stun baton her and threatened that Scorpia would be next. Scorpia didn’t think she would ever go back on her vow to ‘always be there for Catra’, but –somehow- Catra had found her line and crossed it. Scorpia was not so enamored with the her now. 

She hoped Inspector Pirate Sea Hawk had been doing better with his mermaid princess. 

“Hi.” Scorpia lifted a pincer in a friendly wave as she approached the table. “Remember me?”

Inspector Pirate Sea Hawk did recognize her. At least, his song came to a grinding halt as he froze on the table, mid-dramatic pose, and cringed down at her. “Force Captain Scorpia of the Evil Horde.”

Those surrounding her table turned to shoot her outright hateful looks. 

Emily pivoted on her immobile leg to push herself between Scorpia and the openly hostile locals of Seaworthy. The triangle of her blaster canon glowing dangerously. 

Scorpia placed a pincer-claw on the convex shell of the bot’s body and gave an awkward chuckle. “Uh, haha, yeah… But it’s just Scorpia now. The Horde I was a part of doesn’t seem to exist anymore and the new Horde that’s replaced it doesn’t seem to want anything to do with me. So, I’m just me now.”

Sea Hawk completely skipped over the part where she mentioned a ‘New Horde’, instead drawing a completely different conclusion. “And so, you wish to join my crew! Find fortune and fame as a daring nar-do-well on the high seas! Adventure!” 

With another awkward chuckle, Scorpia scratched the back of her head. “Uh, no… I was just hoping to hire a ship for a one-time voyage. There’s someplace I gotta get to and something I gotta do…”

“Ah.” Sea Hawk settled down into the booth. No longer jumping up on tables and singing, the small crowd around his table wandered off and disappeared. Leaving the boisterous captain alone to talk. He pulled a slip of paper out of the sleeve of his jacket and slid it across the table to Scorpia. “My standard fee.”

Pulling up a chair and sitting at the table opposite him, Scorpia took the offered paper and unfolded it, reading the number that was sloppily written across it. She gave a snort of amusement, folded the paper again, and slid it back across the table to him. “Yeah, um, I was a Princess before I was a Force Captain and I can tell you: no single person on Etheria has that much liquid capital at the ready.”

Sea Hawk rested his elbows at the table. “Of course, I’m always open to haggle.”

Flashing another smile, Scorpia placed her claw back on Emily’s done, stroking gently as if petting a beloved hound. “You do recall I used to be a Horde Force Captain, right?” She began, trying to access and channel her inner-Catra. The other woman might have turned out to be a manipulative user, but she knew how to get things done. “I could just kill you and take your ship.”

She regretted the suggestion the moment it was out of her mouth. Scorpia never really enjoyed the strong-arm intimidation parts of her old job. She became a Force Captain because her family believed it was important to maintain strong ties with the leadership of the organization they had sworn their loyalty to. That did not mean she had to like or rely on the more ethically questionable parts of the job. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Sea Hawk threw up his hands in a ‘peace’ gesture. Waving them slightly with agitation. “I thought we were cool with each other. I mean, we had a moment up in the Northern Reach. I thought we really connected there. You and I. Talking about my relationship with Mermista and your relationship with… the angry cat.”

Scorpia looked down, forlorn. She suddenly wished she’s ordered a drink from the bar before coming over here. If for no other reason than to have something to stare forlornly into while her own reflection gazed back at her. 

Instead, she said, “It’s because of Catra that I need to get to Beast Island.”

“Beast Island!” Sea Hawk almost fell out of his booth. “Why are you trying to get to Beast Island?”

Nobody chose to go to Beast Island. 

“I have to rescue a friend.” She informed him. Then before he could assume it was Catra, she added, “Entrapta. I have to rescue Entrapta. She used to be a member of your Alliance. Wasn’t she your friend too?”

In all honesty, Sea Hawk had only ever met Princess Entrapta of Dryl three times. The first at Princess Prom wherein she spent the whole time climbing columns and leaning over balconies, and he was with Mermista at the time and so wasn’t really paying much attention to the antics of other –less aquatic- princesses. The second time was at the strategy meeting for rescuing Princess Glimmer from the Fright Zone, but the focus that time had also been on something else and so they did not interact much then either. The third and final time Sea Hawk met Entrapta was after the Princess had already started working for the Horde, up in the Northern Reach. But the majority of that adventure was spent either running from corrupted First Ones monsters, or commiserating with Scorpia. In short, Sea Hawk did not know Princess Entrapta all that well, he would not consider her a friend. 

It was odd, but he actually considered Scorpia, a Horde Force Captain –former Horde Force Captain- more of a friend than Princess Entrapta formerly of the Princess Alliance. But Entrapta was Scorpia’s friend, that made her the friend of a friend. 

Sea Hawk stood up on the table again. “Sounds like you’re on an… Adventure!”

Scorpia smiled, he whole face lighting up. “So, you’ll take us to Beast Island?”

Sea Hawk immediately sat down again. “Gosh, no! Nobody chooses to go to Beast Island!”

Scorpia’s happy mood deflated. Next to her, Emily pivoted on her bad leg and bumped the table. 

“What if I paid you?” Scorpia asked. She pulled the Force Captain badge off her chest and showed it to him. “This is gold. If you take me and Emily to Beast Island to rescue Entrapta, you can have it. Sell it, melt it down, wear it, I don’t care.”

Sea Hawk stared at the gold shield with green trim. The badge of a Force Captain of the Evil Horde. And Scorpia was just giving hers away. “The Horde’s really gone, then.” 

He was there at the party in Bright Moon when Octavia attacked. One final ditch attempt to catch the Princesses off guard. So, then, that really was the last of them. There was no Horde anymore. Just scattered remnants here and there. 

“Yeah.” Scorpia nodded. “Lonnie’s taken over the Fright Zone and is trying to rebuild the infrastructure, so there’s still a Horde. But the Horde that has been trying to conquer Etheria for almost as long as I can remember is gone.”

So her badge didn’t carry any authority anymore. It was just gold and green enamel. Gold would always have a value. 

Sea Hawk reached for it. 

Scorpia pulled away. “Ah, ah, ah. I’m nice. I’m not dumb. I like you, Inspector Pirate, but we’ve never actually been allies before. You get only half now, the other half when Entrapta is safely off of Beast Island.”

“Half?” Sea Hawk raised a skeptical eyebrow. “There’s only one badge.”

In answer to this, Scorpia just tightened her pincer on the badge, and the soft metal snapped in half. She smiled at him. 

Sea Hawk blinked. Whether Scorpia intended it or not, there was also a silent warning in that. ‘Double cross me, or I can snap you in half just as easily as this precious metal.’ She slid one half of the badge across the table to him. Sea Hawk swallowed with apprehension, but he took it anyway. 

Standing back up, but smiled. One of his debonair hero smiles, with teeth sparkle. “Well, it looks like Captain Sea hawk and crew are off on another adventure!” He thrust a fist dramatically into the air. “Ohhhh! I’m Sea Hawk, I am I am! If you’re looking for adventure, then I’m your man!”

Scorpia clapped her pincers happily as he began to sing. No one from the Horde ever sang while on missions. Everyone in the Horde was always so grim and serious. (Everyone except Kyle and Entrapta.) Working with someone from the Alliance looked like it might actually be fun, as well as necessary. 

“If you want to ride on the waves of deepest blue, through perilous winds than I got you!”

…

“…but what she didn’t realize was that they were just trying to warn her…” New-Kyle was just finishing the end of what was supposed to be a spooky story. “…The monster was in the backseat!”

“A predictable conclusion.” Hordak melted out of the shadows, startling the majority of Catra’s minions from the Crimson Wastes. 

They all gasped, or yelped, or fell off the rocks they were seated on.

Hordak ignored them. He had not come to socialize, he only wanted the meat they were cooking over their fire. Sand-snake. Long strips of the beast’s flesh had been wrapped around sticks and suspended over the fire. Hordak helped himself to three of them, before melting back into the shadows. Disappearing as silently as he had come. 

Catra’s gang continued to stare into the darkness long after he left. Concerned he might return for more. He was so utterly creepy. Moving silently. Always staying inside the darkened spaceship until the Glow Moon sank over the horizon and the sky blackened. The only part of him anyone could ever see in the dark, his glowing red eyes. He was like a monster out of a scary story! How did Catra stand that guy! 

Hordak returned to the First Ones ship. He had no desire to sit and listen to the Etherian’s absurd and predictable tall tales. It seemed like all worlds were all telling the same five or six stories with only slight nuances changed here and there. Hordak had no patience for it. He bit into the fire-roasted snake meat. 

Too much flavor. The animal’s flesh by itself had more flavor than what the Horde clone was used to, but the Etherians had also added some sort of herb or spice on top of it. Hordak gaged on the first bite, but forced it down anyway. Nutrients were nutrients and he needed to eat. He much preferred the bland and flavorless ration bars from the Fright Zone. He tried to get them as close to the ration bars he was raised on in the Empire. Negative flavor, just like the Horde commissary used to make. 

He glided back onto the command bridge, or at least, the part of the First Ones ship he had designated as the ‘command bridge’ in his mind. It was a large chamber lined in a semi-circle of consoles with a captain’s chair in the center. It looked like a command bridge to him. It was also the chamber Catra insisted the late She-Ra’s message was in. It was the chamber he’d spent the past week working in trying to retrieve said message. 

After a week’s worth of working with the First Ones computers, all he managed to do was add a second holo-projection in addition to the first one Catra showed him. A monochrome blue-on-blue and glitching projection of She-Ra’s sword sheathed in the console and sunk deep in the computer. 

Clearly, the legendary sword was the key to this too. 

Everything came back to that Host-cursed sword. 

Hordak was really starting to hate it. That damn sword was competing with sand for the spot of Most Repugnant Thing in the Universe According to Lord Hordak. 

Right above his own personal failures, and traitors like Entrapta. 

“I am Mara, She-Ra of Etheria, and I am gone.”

The hologram greeted him on the otherwise empty command bridge. 

Hordak turned right back around and walked out of the command bridge. He had been listening to that Host-cursed recording on a semi-constant loop and was sick of it. If he had to hear her say that one more time, he was going to bite the head off the next creature that disturbed him –and that was not an overly dramatized exaggeration. His teeth were sharp, and his nerves were razor thin. 

He bit into the snake meat instead. Swallowing quickly without the formality of chewing in the hopes that he would taste less flavor that way. What was this obsession natural beings had with seasoning? 

Standing in the doorway of the command bridge, Hordak looked around. The First Ones ship was so big. Easily as big as a Horde ship. Perhaps not a capital ship. But a light freighter, or dynamic-class freighter, maybe. Whatever the First One equivalent of a YT-1300F, or a Firefly was. It had to have more rooms than just the main entrance and the command bridge. 

It had to have a bulk storage bay for one. All interstellar vehicles had to have bulk storage bays, for supplies. It took time to traverse between planets, even more time between star systems. The crew would need to eat. Drink clean water. Wash themselves. 

It had to have crew quarters. Crews needed to rest. Even Horde. First One’s couldn’t be an exception to this rule either. Nobody slept on a command bridge. If you were on the command bridge, then you were on duty. If you were off duty, then you were not on the command bridge. 

It had to have a medical bay. Injuries happened. It was an inevitability of space travel. Even non-militaristic, non-aggressive, non-colonizer cultures got injured. Where did the First Ones treat their wounded? Hordak absolutely refused to believe that She-Ra simply healed her whole crew with her sword every time one of them scraped one of their outer extremities while preforming routine maintenance on the ship. That was just absurd. 

He traced one talon over the lines on the wall. The interlocking geometric shapes that were part artistic reliefs and part written language. Radiating out from the door to the command bridge. Art and language. That obnoxious artistic wordplay that other species and cultures sometimes made. What had Hode called it? ‘Poetry’? Hode had a strange fascination with the stuff. Not just ‘poetry’ but all of it. All the unnecessary cultural clutter that came from a ‘diverse’ species. Poetry, music, dance, sculpture, fiction, illustration… ‘Art’ he called it. Hode was obsessed. 

‘Learn about art, Zero-Zero-Three. When you understand a species' art, you understand that species.’ 

Understanding a species made conquering that species –and keeping them conquered- much easier. Another of Hode’s lessons that Hordak, apparently, failed to learn. 

He traced the interlocking sigils with his talon, trying to decide which this was. Trying to imagine what it might say. Art or language? Poetry, or practical signage. 

‘In the black wind stars shall die,  
‘Rest still on gold here let them lie.  
‘Where gates stand ever shut,  
‘Till the worlds are mended.’

Hn. Absurd. 

It probably just said ‘Alpha Deck, Forward Bridge: Command – Clearance Necessary’. 

Not that Hordak could read any of it. Entrapta was the one who grasped a basic understanding of the unnecessarily complicated interlocking sigils that made up the First Ones language. He had no mind for it. They all just looked like triangles and lines to him. 

He followed the line until it intersected with another, then followed the new one. 

They lead him back to the bare and sand-covered entrance. 

Hordak doubled back to the command bridge and followed a different line on the opposite side of the door. This line did not intersect with any others, it just continued on into the shadowed bowels of the ship. He paused for a moment, giving his eyes time to adjust to the deeper dark, the red glow burning brighter. Horde clones had excellent night vision. Hode used to theorize that the Horde were a nocturnal species before their race moved from the surface of a planet into the eternal twilight of space. 

Keeping one hand on the wall, his talon still following the one consistent line of First Ones writing-art, Hordak made his way deeper into the cavernous bowls of the ship. 

Then his talon got stuck in a deep groove. 

Hordak dropped the last of the snake-meat sticks he was still holding and snarled an expletive so vulgar. If one of his subordinates had said it, he would have had to have a disciplinary meeting with them after which they might not have been allowed to keep their tongue. The clones of Horde Prime were not supposed to shout like dirty gutter vermin. 

He pressed his other hand against the wall and tried to push away, but all he succeeded in doing was threatening to rip the talon off the end of the digit. Hordak growled at the wall. How dare this piece of luh’suh hold him prisoner! 

Taking a deep breath to force himself to calm back down, Hordak leaned in closer to the wall to get a better look at the new line he’d gotten himself stuck in. It was completely vertical, not interspersed with unnecessary triangles or other geometric shapes, and deeper than the rest of the scratches in the walls that looked like First Ones writing. Hordak leaned so close to the wall, the red glow from his eyes was reflected off the polished steel. 

Then the First Ones crystal on his collar glowed. 

“Guest-Administrator detected.” Announced a voice from nowhere and the wall that was holding his talon hostage slit to the side. He held his now freed hand in the other and stared at the gap in the wall. 

It wasn’t a new line of First Ones text intersection the first one, it was a door. Only this absurd race would make a door completely indistinguishable from their writing. (And their writing completely indistinguishable from their art.) 

Not knowing what he was going to find, Hordak stepped through the now open door. 

There were no lights in here either. But that was fine. He could see in the dark. 

The first thing he saw was a metal table, only seconds before he walked into it. The corner catching him in the thigh. Hordak uttered another profane Horde clone curse. He had been doing a lot of cursing and swearing since leaving the Fright Zone. (He’d also been getting beat up by a space ship a lot since leaving the Fright Zone.)

Looking around, Hordak realized that the table that caught him in the thigh was part of an island counter. Like a work table of sorts. Turning his attention to the walls, they were lined with cupboards and cabinets, counters, and square metal grills that might have been stoves. High intensity ovens, and microwave chambers. 

A galley. 

Hordak had found the ship’s galley. 

He immediately forgot the snake-meat he dropped in the corridor and started opening cabinets, and cupboards, and lockers. If this was a spaceship galley, then it had to have processed protein and vitamin supplements. All packaged for shelf-lives so long it bordered on infinite. In short, ration bars. Bland, flavorless, slightly brittle, bricks of nutrients. Just like the Horde commissary used to make. 

The packets he found were not brittle like the ration bars he was used to. Hordak pulled out several foil packages, each one about the size of his palm. They were suspiciously squishy. He tore the corner off of one and sniffed it experimentally. He detected hints of pureed vegetables with an animal protein, all mixed together with rice as a bonding agent, and the artificial scent of preservatives. Not exactly the kind of rations he was used to, but it didn’t smell like it had gone bad. 

Hordak squeezed the packet and a brown gel oozed out. Definitely not the type of rations he was used to. 

With just the tiniest bit on his thumb, Hordak raised it to his nasal cavity and sniffed again, just to make sure. It did not smell rotten, and he didn’t detect anything that was poisonous to Horde such as cacao or garlic. He licked it off his thumb, pausing to really analyze it on his tongue. No rotten flavor, the preservatives kept it safe. No itching or oral irritation to indicate an anaphylaxis reaction, he wasn’t allergic to anything in it. Hordak swallowed. It went down easy too. Much easier than the brittle and usually dry ration bars of the Horde Empire. 

But, best of all, it had almost no flavor! Not, no flavor. There was still the metallic tang of preserved meat, and a mild bitterness of green vegetables. But it was worlds blander than the seasoned snake-meat he swiped from Catra’s gang. 

Bringing the rest of the open packet to his lips, Hordak bit through the foil with his fangs and sucked the whole thing empty. It filled him up and left him satisfied better than the fresh meat did. 

First Ones tech –even their food technologies- were just better. 

He grabbed a handful of the packets and made his way out of the galley. Maybe with a full stomach he would find the irritating recording of the late She-Ra more bearable and be able to get some meaningful progress accomplished on decoding said late She-Ra’s message about a weapon. 

Hordak would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little curious. 

Large scale super-weapons weren’t really something the Horde as a whole went in for. Horde Prime preferred large, overpowering armies, with swarms of space fighters and planetary atmosphere jets. Droves of infantry and vehicle cavalry. Armies comprised of millions of soldiers, with hundreds of officers, overseen by a trusted cabinet of Lords. So many moving pieces. And a system in place to replace any part that was destroyed. It was a long more difficult for a rebel to defeat than a single super-weapon or doomsday device. Fleets of starships, or formations of infantry were not destroyed when someone got one lucky shot in one unlucky exhaust port. 

If Etheria, or perhaps these ‘First Ones’ did construct a super-weapon, he wanted to know what it was. He wanted to know if he could use it, and if he could turn it on Entrapta somehow. 

Destroy the one who had betrayed him with the very technology she devoted her life to studying. 

There was a kind of ‘art’ in that idea. Ending her life using her life’s pursuits. It was almost like ‘poetry’. Perhaps it was. It was Horde poetry. 

It was Horde art. 

‘Learn about art, Zero-Zero-Three. When you understand a species' art, you understand that species.’ 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Y’all don’t know this yet, but Hode was low-key based off Grand Admiral Thrawn, Batman, Allan-a-Dale, and Rhaegar Targaryen.) 
> 
> Also, that short little four-line "poem" was not mine. Its from the "Fellowship of the Ring". The first two lines come from when Frodo and Company have fallen into the lair of a Barrow Wight, and second two lines are from the song Tom Bombadil uses to rescue them and wake them from the Wight's mesmer. 
> 
> I have no gift for lyrical verse or poetic imagery. So, any time you see a poem or a song in my fics, please go ahead and assume it came from another source. Within this fic, I can tell you, the majority of them will be coming from the extended works of Tolkien, "A Song of Ice and Fire", and some already established IRL folk songs.


	10. Escapes in Duet

Using her hair to cut her one meal of the day into tinier pieces, Entrapta listened for the guard’s footsteps to disappear from her cell block. Chewing one tiny piece, she counted to ten after the corridor went silent before sliding her tray out of the way and laying down on the floor in its place. Her hair once again slithered out through the slit at ground level to continue her attempts at guessing the four digit code to unlock her cell. 

Cycling through all the 10,000 possible numerical combinations that could unlock her door. 

Entrapta was over halfway through the sixes now. 6660… 6661… 6662… She would go through all ten thousand if she had to. Entrapta was very good at taking things in stride. She was just fine living in the vents of the Fright Zone for three days. Sleeping in tight spaces, trying to move unseen, stealing food from empty rooms, using the toilets when she was sure they were empty. Entrapta was not a delicate and ‘wilting flower’ princess. 

But there was a limit to how much filth and discomfort she could take. The Horde prison compound on Beast Island had found her line. Then crossed it. 

She was ready to leave now. 

And since it seemed Hordak had written her off and abandoned her, just like Adora had, and just like Catra had, she would just have to rescue herself. 

6669… 6670… 6671- 

There was a CLICK and her door creaked open, swinging slowly on its hinges. 

Entrapta lifted herself up off the floor, walking on her hair instead of her feet. She very carefully closed her cell door behind her and locked it back to give the illusion that she was still inside. After all, no alarms were triggered. How would anyone know she wasn’t in her cell anymore. 

Then she caught the number printed on the metal door. Six-six-seven-one. The number of the cell was the code used to open it. Not what she would have gone with. Certainly not as secure as some other codes, but then if the prisoners on the inside couldn’t see the number, or couldn’t reach the keypad on the outside there was no need to go overboard on the security. They weren’t in Dryl. This wasn’t the Crypto Castle. This place wasn’t designed by Queen Ensnarea. 

Entrapta looked to the cell next to hers. The one that held the nice guy who encouraged her coping mechanisms and defended her process to the other prisoners. She looked at the number on his cell, then typed it into the keypad on his door. It, likewise, swung open slowly on its hinges. She pulled it the rest of the way open with her hair. Suspended in the doorway, the silhouette of a female figure surrounded by almost spider-legs of hair. 

“Hi. You wanna escape?” She asked. 

The man looked up. 

Raising his head, dark eyes stared up at her through a curtain of equally dark hair. “You- you’re the new Princess? How’d you get out?”

He lifted his hands and tried to brush his hair out of his face. Unlike Entrapta, his hands were bound. The wrists locked together in a wooden plank. 

“Are you asking me about my process?” She asked. “Well, the last place I was staying I got around by the air vents mostly, but this place doesn’t have ventilation, so I had to improvise. The first hurdle was figuring out what kind of locks they used for security. I was hoping for analogue key-and-tumbler locks because those are fast and easy to pick. But it turns out here they use digital locks that require a numerical code. There’s a finite number of possible combinations for the key-code, so it was just a matter of cycling through the possibilities until I found the correct one.”

The man just continued to stare at her. 

His scrutiny began to make Entrapta feel uncomfortable, and she lowered her welding mask over her face. “You weren’t really asking me about my process. I’ve learned that when people ask me about my experiments, theories, or processes, they aren’t actually interested in learning about me.” Entrapta turned to leave him. “I won’t bother you. Doors open now, you can escape if you want. If not, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t raise the alarm.”

The man stood up, shaking his long dark hair out of his face. “No, wait! I was just- surprised.” He tried to explain. Then held out his hands. “The lock on my cuff is an analogue key-and-tumbler lock.”

She paused in the doorframe. Looked back. Entrapta was getting used to people just using her for the things she could do by this point. ‘Lasting friendships’ were not a luxury she could enjoy. But as long as she was useful to someone, she’d always have temporary friends. That was something, right? 

Lowering herself down onto her feet, Entrapta entered the cell to make her newest temporary friend. 

Tendrils of hair slithered into the lock on his wooden cuff. Turning each of the tumblers until they lined up like the crenulations of a key. There was a soft CLICK, and the lock fell open. The man twisted his wrists and flexed his hands and the wooden cuff fell away. 

“Thank you.”

“It was easy.” She answered honestly. 

“I’m Micah.” He informed her, a bit of a pause after the name as if he were significant. As if Entrapta was supposed to instantly recognize who he was and gasp with shock and awe. He was a significant General and hero of the original Princess Alliance and first attempt at rebellion. Plenty of new prisoners that came in responded to his name with almost reverent disbelief. To the outside world, King Micah of Brightmoon was dead. A martyred hero. 

She did not react, however. She just nodded back. “I’m Entrapta.”

Then left the cell. Walking on her hair again because it was quieter than her shoes. 

“Wait!” Micah followed after her. 

“You should probably keep your voice down.” Entrapta informed him, not bothering to regulate her own volume. “The acoustics in here cause sound to travel more efficiently than the architecture implies.” 

Then because that was true, and it was something she had been wondering about herself, she paused to really examine the stone of the walls. The corridor was much cleaner than the inside of her cell had been and Entrapta lifted her welding mask to get a better look at it. Smooth, almost flawless, and with an odd shine to it. In fact, out here in the corridor, it didn’t look much like stone at all. Not something that was cut from the earth. Dryl was a mining Queendom, Entrapta knew what cut earth looked like (in all its forms). No, this was artificial. Manufactured. But not metal. 

“Fascinating.” She muttered to the wall, eyes sparkling with the realization that there was something new to learn about and understand. Even here, on Beast Island, in a Horde prison that might as well be a gulag, Princess Entrapta could find things that catered to her passions. 

Behind her, Micah cleared his throat. “Ahm. We were escaping?”

“Oh. Right.” For a half of a moment, Entrapta had honestly forgotten that she was in danger. “You can go ahead and go.”

There was a pause in which Micah just stared at her. Partially disbelieving, partially assessing, all concerned. He almost looked like a parent that had found someone else’s child lost and alone in a dangerous situation. 

“No…” He said slowly. If she was the Princess Entrapta from Dryl, daughter of Queen Ensnarea, then she was not a child, she was very much an adult. But there was just something about her, something… atypical, that made Micah feel like she had to be looked after like a child. Or, at the very least, not left alone without supervision. Certainly, not abandoned in a narrow corridor of an enemy prison. Micah reached out and grabbed her by the hand. “We’ll go together!”

Entrapta only sighed. Great. Another temporary friend that was just sticking with her because she had talents they could use, and was pulling her away from more interesting things under reasoning of ‘necessity’. If this was what ‘friendship’ truly was –and her experience was beginning to support that hypothesis- then maybe Entrapta didn’t need friends after all. 

And yet, she allowed herself to be pulled along anyway. 

They turned a corner, and came face-to-faceplated-helmet with the first guard encounter of their escape. 

All three of them froze. In shock, and equal parts not knowing what to do. No one had ever escaped Beast Island before. The there was no president for this. The guard had no training for this! Entrapta had been hoping to not have to encounter any guards until she was out. She was not a fighter and the narrow corridors didn’t have ventilation shafts for her to slip into to avoid running into guards. Micah was several years out of practice fighting the Horde. He was older than he used to be, his reflexes not as quick. He hesitated. 

Entrapta was the first to recover. 

“Hey, so, this place doesn’t look like standard Horde construction.” She announced, gesturing with her hair at the walls and ceiling. “I spent a lot of time in the Fright Zone, so I’m very familiar with Horde construction. Did you find this place instead? Refurbish and repurpose an older structure? The acoustics are very interesting. Not how one expects sound waves to usually travel. This place is almost like an amplifier!”

The guard was the second to recover. They raised either weapon at the pair of escaped prisoners. “Don’t move!”

That was when Micah finally reacted. 

Maybe it was the lavender hair, or maybe it was her youthful and child-like air, but Entrapta reminded Micah of his own daughter (a child he hadn’t seen since she was a toddler and had no concept of her current personality). Seeing a Horde soldier point a gun at her triggered a primal and paternal instinct in him to protect her. 

Moving his arms in quick, angular motions, Micah traced a design in the air. Lines of glowing blue power forming where his hands traveled, forming a magic sigil. With his palm flat-forward in the center, he sent the sigil wafting at the guard whom winced expecting injury or pain.

There was no injury of pain. The guard just stopped. Immobile. Frozen in place. Not frozen like ice-frozen, frozen like a living statue frozen. 

“Oh, shoot!” Said Micah, inexplicably feeling remorse for the move. “I only meant to stop their weapon, not their body.” Then a terrifying idea occurred to him. “Shoot! I hope I didn’t stop their heart!” 

He had been out of practice with his magic for easily over a decade. With his hands bound he could not continue to practice in his cell. One needed the full range of motion of their arms to draw the magic sigils. 

Entrapta, however, seemed not to be quite so bothered by the possibility that her escape companion might have just killed the guard. She crept up to the still-standing body on her hair, curling herself around it to get a look from all angles. “Fascinating.”

Entrapta never really studied magic. She found that it did not adhere to strict rules like everything else in the natural world seemed to. She was sure it must have rules, of course. Otherwise, how could magic be taught as a discipline? But the rules of magic that she did know seemed arbitrary to her. Any results she received from her –admittedly limited- study of magic were equally as arbitrary and inconsistent. In short, magic was nonsense. 

Still, examining the immobile guard, she had to admit. Magic was nonsense that yielded tangible results. 

Micah drew a different sigil in the air and threw the new one at the frozen guard as well. The body collapsed to the ground.

“Aw.” Entrapta hadn’t finished her examination. 

Micah knelt next to the body, slipping two fingers in the gap between the collar of their armor and the base of their helmet. Feeling for the artery in the neck to check their pulse. They were still alive. His first action upon escape was not to end the life of another sentient, living being. Micah stood.

“Let’s go!” He once again grabbed Entrapta by the arm and pulled her down the corridor. “We need to get to the harbor!”

She had no idea where the harbor was. Entrapta had been unconscious when she was brought in. 

With no better ideas, she allowed herself to be lead through corridors and down hallways by the old sorcerer. Only pausing when she saw something of interest. Usually something that did not seem to belong in a Horde structure. Each time, Micah pulled her arm, or her hair –one time he even picked her up- to keep them moving through the complex. 

And it was a complexed complex. 

The corridors twisting in odd directions at odd times, the floor sloping down inexplicably, the ceiling bowing up for no perceivable reason. Entrapta had spent a lot of time in the Fright Zone, and a lot of time exploring the buildings there. Some had been made from the cannibalized parts of other buildings. So, they did look cobbled together from junk. They did not look neat and orderly. But if one ignored the grime, and mismatched plate colors, the old wiring, or the inefficient electrical systems, one would see that some level of planning did go into their construction. Fright Zone buildings were laid out on a grid. Their corridors were all at right angles. This prison complex was not a grid, and had very few –if any- right angles. 

“Halt!” 

Sometimes they would come across a pack of guards. And Micah would let go of her then. He needed both hands to form the sigils required for his magic. 

After the second encounter, Micah got better that the spell he initially tried on the first guard. Only static-freezing their weapons, or their feet so they couldn’t pursue the escapees. 

Entrapta found it interesting that, to spite the acoustics of the building, she never heard an alarm. One of the guards did manage to get off a warning on her communicator before Micah could stop her. So the prison staff was definitely aware that a break-out was going down. But there was no red alert. No flashing lights, no blaring siren sound. Just a swarm of guards around every other bend or corner. 

Micah pulled Entrapta down another corridor. 

“Shoot!” He hissed, “they’re herding us away from the harbor! At this rate the only way out would be into the jungle.”

Entrapta didn’t see why that option sounded so terrible. At least they would be out of this –admittedly, very interesting- gulag. 

Shifting her mental paradigm from ‘observe and study what you can while your new flavor-of-the-week-friend drags you around as they please’, to ‘Princess of Dryl, you’re in charge here’. Entrapta wrapped almost an entire pigtail around his body and pulled Micah off his feet. “Then let’s go!”

“Wait, what!?”

Now it was Entrapta’s turn to drag him around. They were forced to double back several times while he was the one in charge. Any corridor that was blocked by guards was avoided. But Entrapta wasn’t bothered by immobilized soldiers. They were immobilized by illogical but inexplicably effective magic. What harm could they do? Really, now. 

Using her free pigtail to lift them, and a tendril from the one still holding onto Micah to steady them, Entrapta climbed over already frozen guards. Carrying her companion and herself through the hallways until they arrived at something she was pretty sure she glimpsed while Micah was busy playing ‘strong older man must be the hero’ and dragging her around pointlessly. 

An exterior door. 

A narrow access door. Meant for one soldier to pass through at a time. With a number pad lock same as the cells. But there was a window in it that showed lush green jungle outside. Entrapta set Micah on his feet next to her and began cycling through the 10,000 possible combinations that could unlock the door. It took her two days to get to the one that unlocked her cell. She hoped it would not take that long for their escape door. 

“Don’t suppose you have any spells that can unlock this?” She asked, her tendrils of hair never pausing in their frantic typing of keys. “Are they spells? ‘Cause it looks more like drawing. Sigils, I guess? That’s a thing in magic, right? First Ones writing also has sigils, so I might be getting it confused, but I’m fairly certain mafic also has sigils.”

The door clicked. Entrapta stopped typing with her hair. 

“Oh. Never mind. Guess we didn’t need your magic after all.” Entrapta walked out the door. “Thanks for your help. You look just like your daughter. Bye.”

Micah blinked at her retreating back for a moment. ‘His daughter’? Glimmer! Princess Entrapta knew Glimmer? Micah found himself sprinting after Entrapta –not just because he also wanted to escape the prison. 

“Wait!” He called after her. “You don’t want to go into the jungle!”

…

The Horde Captain of Dryl was walking through the corridors when the Little Lord came up to her. They were flanked by two soldiers in full armor –full armor including helmets with visors down- almost as if the pair were ready for an attack at any moment. It was the first time the Captain had ever seen Lord Hordak’s heir being accompanied by anything resembling a ‘royal guard’. 

“Hi. I’m Hordak.” They announced. 

“I know.” She informed him. There wasn’t a soul in all of the Crypto Castle, or even the greater extended Dryl Queendom, who didn’t know who Hordak Second of Their Name was. Then the Captain realized this might sound a little rude and the last thing anyone wanted to do was be rude to Lord Hordak’s heir. She cleared her throat. “How may I serve you?”

The hybrid child raised their hair, arching it over their heads and using it point at the magic sword the Captain carried on her back. The sword that had been confiscated when they took the rebels into custody. She had not left it out of her sight. Not once. She didn’t quite know what the sword was, but she was able to recognize its importance. The Captain was determined to make sure the weapon remained safe and controlled until the real Lord Hordak could return and claim it. 

“I need that.” Announced the younger Hordak. 

The Captain hesitated. It was true that children in the Horde were taught how to handle weapons almost as soon as they had to dexterity to hold them. But this was not some kidnapped youth taken from a nameless village to be trained as a child-soldier. Or the offspring of two enlisted with an unhealthy lack of self-control and an inability to understand the importance of contraceptives. This was Lord Hordak’s heir. This was the future of the entire Horde. What would happen if they injured themself on it? What would Lord Hordak do if his heir was injured by a Rebel sword that one of his own Captains gave to them. 

Perhaps the captain hesitated a little too long. Because one of the guards flanking the young hybrid cleared her throat. 

“Lord Hordak requires both the sword and his daughter’s presence immediately.” She said in a voice of authority. 

The Captain didn’t recognize the voice, but the soldier spoke like someone accustomed to a command position. But, if she was in a command position, why was she dressed as a common soldier? The Captain narrowed her eyes at the one who spoke, giving their uniform another critical analysis. 

Standard issue. Nothing special. No personal alterations or modifications, and people in command positions were allowed to augment their uniforms to suit personal preference or fighting style. But this one had not altered it at all. Not even to take it to the quartermaster to have it tailored to fit better. It was baggy in the torso, and tight in the hips, as if originally meant for someone of a different body shape. 

“What’s your ID number, soldier?” Demanded the Captain, pulling out a datapad to search the number. 

They hesitated. Much longer than the Captain felt was appropriate. 

Even Lord Hordak’s heir looked back at her, questioning.

Finally, the soldier rambled off a number. 

The Captain punched it into her datapad. She frowned at the name and profile it displayed. Then looked back up at the soldier. “Your name is Kyle?” 

“Y-yes, ma’am.” She nodded. “My name is Kyle.”

“It says here that you’re just a grunt soldier, barely out of training.” She informed the other woman. “And that you’re assigned to Force Captain Catra’s division. Force Captain Catra is not here.”

Not that the Captain even knew if Force Captain Catra was even still a Force Captain anymore. A lot seemed to have happened in a very short time. They were kind of cut off from the rest of the Horde up here in this mountain Queendom of Dryl. Force Captain Scorpia showing up with Lord Hordak’s heir from Princess Entrapta was shocking enough. Maybe in all the chaos this lowly grunt, Kyle, had been up-jumped to a Royal Guard. 

There was another hesitation. Then, “Force Captain Catra is with Lord Hordak.” She finally announced. “He requires both his heir and the sword, so Catra ordered us to come and collect them.”

That made sense. 

The Captain glanced down at Lord Hordak’s heir. They did not seem nervous or in the least bit threatened by either these guards or the prospect of going to see their father. The hybrid looked perfectly at ease. Maybe a little impatient. The Captain held out her hand. “Alright. Give me the order so I can copy it to my datapad and file it in the records here.”

“Uh…” That was the first time the hesitation came off as actually nervous or concerned. 

“You do have a copy of the order, don’t you?” The Captain pressed. “Lord Hordak wouldn’t trust his heir to just anyone.”

“Uh…” Now both guards seemed jumpy and nervous. 

“No data trail.” The Heir snapped suddenly. Their hair curling under them to lift them up to be on an eye-level with the Captain. Those glowing red eyes narrowing at her. For what might very well have been the first time since meeting this child, the Captain actually saw them as Lord Hordak’s heir in practice, not just name. “It’s a secret mission. No data trail. No copies on your datapad. Nobody knows.”

That seemed to be the theme with this child. Secrecy. No data to be found. The Captain certainly didn’t know about them until Scorpia showed up unannounced, also with not orders handy, and dropped the Heir off at their mother’s home castle and Queendom. 

“No data trail.” Nodded the Captain. If the Lords of the Horde wanted to play cloak and dagger games, who was she to question them? She reached an arm behind her to withdraw the sword. “Will Imp be staying here, my Lord? I don’t see him with you.”

There was another hesitant pause. 

There seemed to be a lot of hesitant pausing going on in his conversation. That could just be because the Heir was young and hadn’t quite gotten the hang of military command yet. But something told the Captain that it wasn’t. A deep feeling in her gut saying that something just didn’t feel right. The instincts that allowed her to raise through the ranks and become a territory Captain practically screaming for her not to take what they said at face value and double check the orders. 

Except there were no orders to double check. 

The Captain’s hand tightened on the hilt of the sword. She did not hand it over to the Heir. Something was off about this. Imp was not with the Heir, and that terrifying little espionage goblin was almost always with the Heir whenever the Heir was out and about in the castle. The only time Imp was not with the Heir was when the Heir sequestered themself in the Princess’ lab, or else asleep in their own chambers. 

Stowing her datapad, the Captain placed her free hand on her hip. “Lord Hordak, come here for a moment.”

“Okay.” The Heir complied easily enough. They closed the space between themself and the Captain to stand at her side, the side that was still holding the sword. As if expecting to receive the sword at any moment. 

She did not immediately hand it over to them. Instead, the Captain fixed her eyes on the Heir’s guards. Helmeted and masked. Their faces hidden from her. “Kyle,” she began, “I’m going to ask a different question –just one question- but I want both of you to answer at the exact same time.”

Both guards exchanged a look. 

The Captain pointed to the second guard whom –thus far- hadn’t said anything. “What’s his name?”

There was a final pause. 

Then, 

“Lonnie.” Said the one she was asking about. 

While at the exact same time ‘Kyle’ announced, “Rogelio can’t speak.”

They were caught in the lie. 

“Darn it, Bow!” Shouted ‘Kyle’. She pulled her helmet off to reveal she was the same intruder from earlier. The traitor and defector former-Force Captain Adora. 

“How was I supposed to know which of Catra’s underlings you were gonna make me!?” The second done pulled off his helmet to show that he was, indeed, the second intruder from earlier. The Rebel Archer and insurgent, Bow. “I’m very clearly not reptilian, so Lonnie just made more sense!”

The Captain pushed the Heir behind her, placing herself between Lord Hordak’s child and the rebel intruders. She hefted the sword in her hands. A large broad sword. Wide blade and gold hilt. As long as almost half her height. But it wasn’t as heavy as it looked and the Captain swung it with ease. 

“Whoa! Carful with that!” Adora shouted at the other woman as she dodged the attack. The blade made deep marks in the wall where the blow landed. “Don’t bunt my blade!”

“Adora! That is not the thing you should be worrying about right now!” Bow snapped at her as he tried to duck around the Captain to get close to Dak. 

Realizing the Heir was in danger, the Captain turned her back on Adora and lunged at Bow instead. He didn’t have any weapons, his arrows and bow were confiscated when they were captured, and it looked like he didn’t think to pick up any weapons when they stole those uniforms. So Bow was unarmed. All he could do was dodge. 

“Stay close to me, Little Lord.” She commanded. “I’ll protect you from the intruders.”

The Heir did move closer to the Captain, but not for the protection she offered. Dak’s hair coiled around her arm, the hand holding the sword, and pulled. Tightened their coils on her wrist to make it harder for her to hold her grip, and tried to pull the sword out of her hand. 

“Lord Hordak, wha-?”

“I said I need that.” The Heir reminded her. “Give it.”

More confused than anything else, the Captain just stared at the little hybrid. Unsure of what was going on here. 

Adora took advantage of the other woman’s confusion and came up behind her. She jumped on the Captain’s back and wrapped one arm around her neck, her forearm pressing on the woman’s throat. 

The Captain did drop the sword, but only because she needed both hands now to claw at the arm that was restricting her breathing. 

“Adora! You can’t just choke people!” Bow shouted at her. “They’ll die!”

“People pass out before they die.” Adora informed him. It was a detail of Horde training she remembered well. You can choke an enemy until they stop moving, but that doesn’t mean they’re dead. People pass out before they die. Just because they’re not moving doesn’t mean they’re not breathing. 

The Captain slammed her back against the corridor wall, squishing Adora between herself and the metal-paneled stone. Adora hissed in pain at the impact, but did not let go. She kept her hold around the Captain’s throat, determined not to let the other woman go until she stopped moving. The Captain’s clawing grew more frantic, finger nails almost digging through the seams of her own gloves in her desperation to get the rebel intruder off her. 

But Adora held firm. Her arm wrapped tight around the other woman’s throat. Squeezing tight. Making sure she got no air. 

Finally, the Captain’s struggles slowed. Her arms going slack. Her body going limp as she collapsed to the ground. 

That was when Adora finally let go and crawled off of her, climbing to her feet. She looked to Dak, still holding the Sword of Protection in their hair. “I’ll take that back now.”

Wordlessly, not even looking at Adora, Dak passed the sword to her. Their hair moving on its own while their eyes seemed transfixed by the unconscious Captain. They knelt next to her and sniffed her unconscious body. 

“She smells like prey.” Dak announced. 

“Thank you, for that.” Bow groaned. Because a child-Hordak, that also crawled through vents and small spaces like Entrapta, and moved around on spider-leg like tendrils of hair wasn’t unsettling enough. 

“Imp’s been teaching me to hunt prey.” Dak added by way of explanation. It did not succeed as an explanation. It just succeeded in making the hybrid seem more unsettling. 

“Okay…” Adora began slowly, channeling her inner-Mermista. “Not touching that… In any event, we need to get outside somehow. The courtyard, the roof, it doesn’t matter. Just somewhere Swift Wind can pick us up.” She lifted the sword above her head and shouted the words that had become a sort of fourth member of their Best Friends Squad. “For the Honor of Grayskull!”

There was a flash of light, and Bow –whom had witness this multiple times before- picked at his nails, unmoved. 

Dak, on the other hand, was enthralled. They watched with rapt attention as Adora grew in height, increased in musculature, changed her clothing, grew her hair longer, and just seemed to all around glow as if her whole body was lit by an internal light. Not glow like the bioluminescents of Dak’s eyes, but glow like a halo of power that just couldn’t be fully contained in the vessel that was her body. 

“Interesting…!” They breathed in much the same way Bow and Aodra remembered Entrapta saying ‘Fascinating…!’ 

Closing the distance between them, Dak rose up on their hair to get a better look at Adroa now that she was She-Ra. She wasn’t just taller, her already blue eyes were bluer. Her muscle definition was firm and strong, more like the results of hard work and diligence rather than chemical enhancements. The tiara was gold like the sword and looked like they might have been cast by the same craftsman, the wing motif was so similar in design. 

They wanted to examine her more, but She-Ra grabbed Dak and threw them over her shoulder so that all they could examine now was her posterior. A section of her form that they did not find quite so interesting. 

“Now is not the time, Dak.” She announced, in a voice similar to the one she had to use several times on Entrapta during their strategy meeting to rescue Glimmer. This child might look like Hordak, but in personality and actions they very clearly took after their mother. 

Dak gave a ‘hmph’ of displeasure. Baker carried them like this whenever they tried to escape their lessons. Was this just how grown-ups interacted with young people? There weren’t any other children in residence at the Crypto Castle for Dak to compare to. They had missing variables and incomplete data to form a hypothesis. 

Bow fell into step beside She-Ra. “We also need to get my bow and arrows back.”

“Those will have been put in the armory.” She told him. 

“Great! Do you know where that is?” He asked. 

Because the Crypto Castle was a maze. Entrapta designed the building to be a puzzle. Something to stimulate thought and force a person to think outside of conventional special norms. 

“Uh…” She-Ra paused in her step. “Well, the dungeon was down below, so the armory would be… uh…”

“The Horde don’t keep their important stuff in the castle.” Dak informed them, impatient. “They’re afraid of getting lost. They set up their own buildings in the courtyard so they know where everything is.”

“Really?” Bow asked. It could not be that simple. “So all we have to do is just get outside?”

“How do we do that?” Asked She-Ra. 

“Put me down.” Dak commanded in a tone that was more like Hordak than it was Entrapta. 

Sliding the hybrid off her shoulder, She-Ra set Dak on their feet. They looked around, trying to decide which corridor they were in since She-Ra basically just threw them over her shoulder and ran in a random direction after beating the Captain. Dak took note of the artwork on the walls, as well as their height and curvature, if there were any landings above them, or below them. Navigating Crypto Castle wasn’t easy, it took the hybrid –literally- all of their life thus far to figure it out. But once Dak learned to recognize the nuances of the design, they learned to figure out where in the castle they were, and how to get to where they wanted to go. 

“Short cut!” They announced happily. Before using their mohawk of blue hair as a rope and swinging themselves up to an air vent. 

Bow and She-Ra watched the hybrid disappear into the tight crawlspace. 

“Does she know we can’t follow her in there?” Asked She-Ra. 

“I don’t think he considered it.” Bow replied. 

They turned to look at each other. “Wait, do you think Dak is a-“

A wall slid open under the vent the hybrid vanished into. There stood Dak, their tool bag in one hand, their hair holding a soldering torch, their other hand raised in a wave. “C’mon, I said this is a short cut!”

Both She-Ra and Bow shrugged. Getting to the courtyard and getting out was far more important than whatever conversation they were about to have in that exact moment. They followed Dak through a dark and narrow passage. No overhead lights. Just dim guiding lines of a muted yellow on the floor. Other than that, the only light came from Dak’s glowing eyes and She-Ra’s sparkling body. 

Then they saw a light at the end of the tunnel. 

Bright morning light from the Glow Moon. 

When they got to the end of the tunnel, Dak grabbed the edge of the exit frame and swung themself out of the passage. 

That action should have given She-Ra a bit of a clue as to what they were about to come out onto –or not onto as the came may be- but it didn’t. She-Ra steped out onto empty air. 

“Wah!” She would have fallen were it not for the flagpole near buy, wafting a Horde banner in the wind. She managed to grab a corner of the banner and held on for dear life. And shouted angrily into the sky. “What the hey, Entrapta!”

Only Princess Entrapta of Dryl would build her castle with a passage that lead out into a sheer drop with no railing, safety net, or even warning. 

Bow leaned over the edge, seeing how far down the drop really was. Yup. That could definitely kill a person. He looked to She-Ra hanging off the flag to make her she was alright. Then to the side to see Dak clinging to the side of the building, the toes of their boots perches on the tiniest bit of decorative trim, their talons sunk into the seam of the stones. Dak looked confused, as if they didn’t see the problem here. 

Unable to suppress it, to spite the serious situation, Bow couldn’t help but laugh. “Well, we were promised a short cut.”

The courtyard was directly below them. 

Dak smiled. They liked Bow. 

“I slide down the pole.” The hybrid informed their companions. “Like this.” They jumped from the wall to the flagpole. Hugging it koala-style, and using their hair to control their decent, Dak slid down just enough to be on level with She-Ra. “Swing over to grab it and follow me.”

Then they were sliding down again. 

From still up in the passage, Bow gave a shrug. It wasn’t like this was any more dangerous than some other things they’d done in the past. At least, they didn’t have to worry about killer robots, or Horde sharp-shooters firing at them like sitting ducks. Walking back a few paces into the passage, Bow got a running start, then jumped for the pole. 

He wasn’t quite as graceful as Dak had been, but he caught the pole in a similar koala-style hug and started to slide down. 

“This is actually kinda fun.” He announced. “C’mon Adora! It’s easy!”

Growing to herself, She-Ra began swinging the banner she clung to until it brought her close enough to grab the pole. All three of them slid down into the courtyard. It was much faster than if they had tried to navigate from inside the castle. Dak was right, it was a short cut. 

Looking around She-Ra took note of the temporary bungalows the Horde had erected. A barracks, vehicle hanger and maintenance shed, field showers and toilets, communications tent, and-

“There.” She-Ra pointed. “That’s got to be the armory.” 

“Okay.” Dak straightened, brushed off their overalls, and marched right over to the bungalow She-Ra indicated. 

The guards straightened when Dak stopped in front of them, using their hair to raise them up to be on eye-level. Bow and She-Ra were starting to recognize that posture. It was an odd sort of tilt in shock, but straighten with discipline that came from not really knowing what this child was, but also knowing that said child might very well be their overlord one day. It was a little refreshing to see that Dak threw everyone a little off kilter. The feeling was not unique. 

The guards let Dak walk into the armory without being challenged. 

Moments later, the hybrid walked out again carrying Bow’s bow and quiver of trick arrows. 

“I can’t believe how easy things are with an enemy higher-up helping us.” She-Ra commented. Things were just a little too easy, in fact. Something was going to go wrong for them. She just knew it. Nothing was ever this easy. 

“Dak’s not an enemy.” Bow argued. “Dak’s just a kid!”

“Frosta is just a kid.” She-Ra reminded him. “That doesn’t make her any less dangerous. And Dak is Hordak’s… something. That makes Dak an enemy higher-up.”

The hybrid rejoined them at the flagpole. “Are we ready to go?”

She-Ra nodded. She lifted her eyes to study the cliffs above the castle. Light Hope said that she and her steed had an empathetic bond. That they could sense each other and Swift Wind would know when he was needed. Truth be told, Adroa was still trying to make sense of the nuances of that kind of relationship. It wasn’t a very proactive part of being She-Ra and so she was not good at understanding it or training it. Empathetic bonds were passive. Background noise, almost. She didn’t know how to use the bond to actually ‘call’ Swift Wind in real time. 

A shrill screech ripped across the courtyard. 

Whatever concentration She-Ra had was broken. 

The trio looked up to see Imp, as the source of the screech. He was perched on the shoulder of the Dryl Horde Captain. One hand clutching her bruised neck, the other hand using the outer frame of the castle entrance to steady herself. She croaked something out of her damaged larynx, but it was too soft for them to hear all the way across the courtyard. 

Unluckily, Imp was obliging enough to make sure she was heard. 

‘Intruders!’ The little deamon repeated in the Captain’s scratching croak of a voice. ‘Intruders! Kidnappers!’ 

“Bad Imp.” Dak growled from between Bow and She-Ra.

She-Ra raised her sword. She knew something like this would happen. Things were going just too easy with Dak helping them. Something had to go wrong. Something had to hit a fan and spray trouble everywhere. Their missions never went smoothly. That was just a fact of life for them. Nothing ever went according to plan. She charged at the nearest Horde soldier to them, knocking the poor reptile into two of her comrades that were foolhardy enough to think they could take on the legendary She-Ra. 

Bow notched and arrow and shot it at the ground between the three soldiers. The arrow tip burst on impact, covering all three in viscous goo that quickly hardened, gluing them to the ground. That was three soldiers that wouldn’t be bothering them. 

Shame they still had a courtyard full of them. 

With another shrill screech, Imp took to the air. Flying across the courtyard to master’s clone. He tried to grab the hybrid by the hair and pull them back to the relative protection of the Captain. Imp could not allow master’s heir to fall into the hands of the enemy. 

“Imp, no!” Dak snarled at the little deamon, trying to pull their hair free. “I’m going to meet Mother!”

The deamon shrieked a disagreement. Master’s heir was not going to Beast Island to die with the Princess. Master’s heir was going to stay right here where they could learn to be a proper Horde clone. 

Bow came up beside Dak and smacked the deamon hard with his quiver. 

Imp let go in shock, but did not relent. He refused to relent until master’s heir realized the mistake they were making and came back with him. 

Their hair free now, Dak reached into their tool bag and pulled out a heavy pipe-wrench. They smacked Imp with it. Knocking the little deamon out of the air. Imp his the stony ground and his yellow-gold eyes went to static for a moment. The blow interrupting his conscious processors. His eyes shut as his back-up unit began a safety reboot to avoid any lost data. 

“Imp!” Dak knelt down next to the deamon. 

The little flying troll had been their most consistent companion for –literally- all of the hybrid’s life so far. Dak couldn’t stand the thought of having damaged him permanently. Picking the deamon up, Dak stowing him in their own tool bag and zipped it shut. If Imp didn’t wake up on his own, then they would try and fix him –just like they were teaching themself to fix the robots in Mother’s Locked Room. 

More soldiers swarmed around She-Ra and Bow. 

Dak clutched their tool bag closer to their chest. Even going so far as to wrap their hair around themelves as if it could protect them. 

“Uh, Adora, we’re completely surrounded.” Bow observed. He notched another arrow, but did not pull back the string. There were too many targets and he couldn’t shoot fast enough to hit all of them. 

“I know.” She-Ra snarled back. 

“Well, do you have a plan?” Bow pressed. They always managed to get out of tight spots in the past. If only Glimmer had come with them, then they all could just teleport out. 

She-Ra did not roll her eyes. No, she did not have a plan. Every time she made a plan it all went to heck in a handbasket so fast it rendered the making of the plan pointless in the first place. There were no plans here. Only actions. 

Then a shadow fell over the courtyard. 

A winged silhouette blocking out the light of the Glow Moon. 

Everyone looked up. 

Bow and She-Ra smiled. They’d recognize that feathered wingspan anywhere. 

“Swift Wind!” Bow hugged the stallion just as he landed between the trio and the soldiers. “Boy, am I glad to see you!”

“I sensed Adora needed me.” He announced. Then noted that they were surrounded by enemies. “Get on!”

Bow reached for Dak’s little hand to help the hybrid on first. They were easily the smallest of the group and couldn’t climb up on their own (unless they used their talons, but Swift Wind probably wouldn’t appreciate that). 

“Hi. I’m Hordak.” Dak announced only after they were already on the horse’s back. 

“You’re who!?” Swift Wind bucked his hind legs and twisted his head, trying to get a look at what Bow had hoisted up onto his back. He could not turn his head completely around, but what he could see did not look like the evil overlord of the Horde that was described to him. This Hordak looked like a… foal. Hordak’s foal? Hordak had a foal? Were they kidnapping a foal from its mare? “Adora, what have you gotten into this time?”

Both She-Ra and Bow jumped up onto Swift Wind’s back. 

“No time for explanations right now, just fly!” She-Ra shouted at her steed. 

“Taking a foal away from their mare goes against everything I stand for!” Swift Wind protested. 

The soldiers seemed to have gotten over their shock of a winged and talking horse dropping down into the midst and were closing back in around them. 

“We’re not taking Dak away from their mother!” Bow promised the highly opinionated stallion. “We’re taking Dak to rescue his mother.”

“Mother is on Beast Island.” The foal announced. 

One of the nearer soldiers charged up a stun baton. 

Welp, that was good enough for Swift Wind. He jumped up into the air. “You can explain the ‘you are Hordak’ part in the air.”

Bow held onto Dak as they climbed in altitude, and Dak held onto their tool back which –in addition to their tools- held the unconscious Imp. 

…


	11. Serve No Purpose

Dragging a felt-tipped medical marker over his skin, Hordak tracked the spread of his degradation. The discoloration on his forearm had extended thirty-five millimeters since the last time he marked it –in his Sanctum, shortly before Catra returned from the Wastes. That was the fasted it had spread since he first became aware of his condition so long ago. Usually, he was able to keep the spread down to a minimum by keeping up a healthy routine or maintain nutrition, hygiene, regular rest, and –of course- regular checkups and medical attention. 

But the stress of his flight from the Fright Zone, the unclean conditions of the Wastes, the inconsistent nutrition, the decrease in opportunities to clean one’s self, and the lack of access to medical technologies, had allowed his condition to worsen and the spread to accelerate. 

Entrapta had drawn the older mark for him. 

She seemed fascinated by his degradation. But then, she was fascinated by almost everything that was new to her. But his degradation –and his failed cloning attempts- seemed of a particular import to her. Almost as important to her as the portal itself. At the time, Hordak thought the interest was born from a desire to know more about him and his people. It was an interest that endeared her to him even further. The idea that she… cared to know about his origins. 

In hindsight, Hordak realized, her interest in his cloning and the defects that caused his degradation were more likely a spy scouting for exploitable weaknesses rather than a burgeoning desire to understand and connect. 

Hordak scoffed out loud. Cursing his own naiveté, and his own… weakness. 

Horde did not form connections. 

Each and every cloned soldier was an island. 

Hordak stowed the marker in a drawer and looked around the First Ones sickbay. 

After discovering the galley, and finally figuring out that the First Ones crystal on his exo-suit could open doors for him, Hordak put more effort into exploring the ship than he did into the task Catra had assigned to him. On his explorations he found the mess attached to the galley, a handful of crew quarters, what might have been an observation deck (the view completely buried in sand), and this wonderful sickbay. 

He was not as familiar with First Ones medical technology as he was Imperial Horde technology, and he couldn’t read any of the writing, so he couldn’t tell the difference between a blood thinner and a coagulant. He definitely wouldn’t be drinking or injecting anything found in the sickbay. But he knew a marker meant for tracking the spread of skin irritants when he saw one, and he knew the smell of antiseptics and antibacterial/antimicrobials. 

Sickbay was where he came to take off the exo-suit and clean underneath it. Wiping his sensitive skin down with antibacterial wipes he found in the same drawer as the marker, tracking the progress of his condition, and cleaning the inside of his armor. Having an exo-suit that allowed him to function as if he were as strong and healthy as any Horde clone was pointless if he succumbed to an infection brought on by poor hygiene. Hordak always did have very strict hygiene. Ever since his condition became apparent to him. Nothing ingrained hygiene discipline like a chronic medical condition. 

When he was satisfied that everything was clean and sterile once again, Hordak fitted his exo-suit back on. It was difficult without Entrapta’s help. But then, everything seemed difficult without Entrapta’s help now. Somehow, against his clone training and personal judgment, Hordak had allowed himself to become dependent on her. Now that she was gone he was… less self-reliant than he had been before. 

‘You are not strong if you require my help to conceal your condition. You cannot rely on other people.’ Hode’s words rang through his head again. 

Hordak spent years serving the old cabinet Lord before he succeeded the old man’s seat. Hode tried to teach Hordak everything he knew. Honestly, and truly teach him. Mentor him. Unlike some other cabinet Lords who played power games with their Force Captains –like he himself played power games with his own Force Captains. Hode was not trying to ‘Lord over’, but actually trying to teach. 

‘It would be very inconvenient for me if you were to die, Zero-Zero-Three. See that you take better care of yourself.’

How had Hordak managed to fail each and every single lesson the older clone tried to impart to him? 

…

“Are your teams ready?” Hode stood with his back to the younger clone. He was staring out the viewport at the planet below them. 

A beautiful gem of swirling pearl and ivory shades, the view unobstructed by moons. This world had no natural satellites, and was right in the middle of an important shipping rout between Capital Core and the Old Revena system. In short, it was right in the middle of one of the Horde Empire’s most important supply routes, and –until just recently- had been under complete and total Horde control. 

That was, until a handful of insurgent groups managed to get organized and turn themselves into something resembling a collaborative Rebellion. Not just resembling a Rebellion. It was a Rebellion. A Rebellion that turned into a revolution when they overthrew the occupying Horde forces and took the assigned Territory Captain prisoner. 

That could not stand. 

Lord Hode was tasked by Prime himself to rectify the situation. Take back the planet. Crush the Rebels into the dirt they crawled out of. Make an example of them so that insolence like this didn’t happen again. 

“Yes, my Lord.” Zero-Zero-Three saluted, even though he knew Hode wouldn’t see the action. 

With a bit of an unnecessary swish of his cape, the older clone turned around to face his subordinate. The red glow of his eyes the only part of his face Zero-Zero-Three could see from under his hood. Those crimson glowing eyes narrowed at the younger clone. 

“You’re thinner than you were when we last spoke.” Hode observed. His deamon came to rest on his shoulder and the old clone reached a talon up to strong under the android’s chin affectionately. “Have you decreased your caloric intake for some reason?”

“No, my Lord.” Zero-Zero-Three assured him. He always felt uncomfortable discussing this with Hode. It wasn’t just a weakness, it was a shameful weakness. One that could not be fixed with training or conditioning, and had no place in the Horde. Hode was a cabinet Lord, the highest seat of power a clone could achieve, a position directly under Horde Prime himself. Hode should have killed Zero-Zero-Three outright the moment the older clone learned of the… issue. But he didn’t. And he never told Zero-Zero-Three why. “In fact, I’ve increased my intake by three percent. My body just- doesn’t seem to retain it…”

Hode gave a hmph of displeasure. “Change your ration intake again, higher proteins and fewer carbohydrates.” That was not a suggestion, it was a command. “And alter your uniform to conceal the loss of body mass.”

Zero-Zero-Three offered a respectful bow to his Lord. “Your advice-“ they were commands “-is invaluable, my Lord. I shall rely on your wisdom.” 

This humility, however, did not have the desired effect of flattering his Lord’s vanity. “The Horde value strength above all else, Zero-Zero-Three.” He snapped in apparent irritation. “Don’t flatter me with pretty words while you waste away in front of me and handicap my own plans. You are not strong if you require my help to conceal your condition. You cannot rely on other people. You cannot rely on me.” 

“My Lord, I meant no offence.” Zero-Zero-Three was quick to assure the older clone. 

“Your meaning is not relevant.” Hode snapped. “Your attitude is what is unsatisfactory. If you do not die on this mission, I will try and educate you upon your return. If the Territory Captain is still alive, bring him back to me. I’ll try and educate him too. Take your away teams and go.”

Zero-Zero-Three offered a silent salute, and preformed an almost theater-level about face.

“And, Force Captain,” Hode called after him, “do try not to die. It would be very inconvenient for me if you were to die, Zero-Zero-Three. See that you take better care of yourself.”

…

The cabin of the drop-ship rocked as the craft was buffeted by the planet’s atmosphere. 

The exosphere and thermosphere were nothing. Like passing through light mist. The drop-ship didn’t even feel it. Force Captain Zero-Zero-Three would not even have known, had the pilot not announced each time they passed through an atmospheric layer. 

It was the mesosphere where they actually started to feel the movement of the craft. The first bit of turbulence, combined with the craft’s internal gravity competing with the planetary gravity outside. 

Things calmed down again in the stratosphere after the pilot cut the ship’s internal gravity. It was like riding a wave. Not completely smooth, but certainly not shaky or bumpy. 

Then they got down into the troposphere and Zero-Zero-Three’s whole squad was thrown against their crash restraints. The cabin giving a sharp jolt and shake. Zero-Zero-Three grit his teeth, baring the bright red fangs to the rest of his troopers. He hoped the crash harnesses didn’t leave bruises. One of the symptoms of his defect was an inability to heal. Bruises would just continue to worsen until he managed to get back to the Vinyl Hood and the regeneration technology in its sickbay. 

The turbulence shifted from violent jolts and buffets, to just more general shuddering and shaking. They must be close to the planet’s surface now. 

“Beginning final decent, Captain!” The pilot called. 

Zero-Zero-Three only gave a curt nod as a reply. 

He pulled out his weapon to give it one final check before they deployed. In its resting state, it looked like a harmless metal tube, no more than forty-two centimeters in length. But when Zero-Zero-Three twisted it just so, the metal tube extended, expanding out from both ends to become a long spear-like weapon just a little over two meters in length. His force-pike. Zero-Zero-Three flicked a thumb over the grip, and the blade at the end of it crackled with electricity, red and mean looking. He switched it off again and collapsed the weapon back into its resting state. 

Unlocking his crash restraints, Zero-Zero-Three stood to address his troops. 

“Any soldier who dies with a clean weapon can’t join the rest of us in the High Host!” He announced. An unnecessary reminder. All Horde clones knew their dogma. 

The Horde did not have a religion per-say. They did not have gods or spirits, they did not place significance on ritual or ceremony, they certainly didn’t think much of the concept of ‘sin’ that other species seemed to be obsessed with. But they did have an afterlife. 

A place where worthy soldiers, who served their Emperor well got to join after they fell in battle. The All High Host. The greatest army the Underworlds had ever known, comprised of only the worthy. A soldier who fell too in battle with his weapons unbloodied did not get to join the Host. A clone that expired in the tank, or shortly after hatching did not get to join the Host. Deserters, defectors, and traitors no matter their prowess in battle were equally unworthy to become part of the All High Host. 

Only those who died serving the Emperor of the Known Universe, Horde Prime, were worthy. 

The floor of the cabin opened up, the panels sliding under their seats on two tiers. The clone troopers held onto handles on the cabin walls to keep from jumping down prematurely. 

Below them, they could see natives in poorly matched ‘uniforms’ running to intercept them. 

“Those are brave natives down there.” Zero-Zero-Three reminded his troops. Those natives had managed to overthrow the occupying Horde forces that were placed on this rock to rule them. “Let’s go kill them!”

There was an answering chorus of “Hoo-rah!”

Zero-Zero-Three jumped down through the open floor, his force-pike in his hands. He extended the weapon in mid-fall. Sinking the blade and a third of the shaft into the native insurgent he landed on to break his fall. 

All around him, other Horde clone troopers were making similar jumps and breaking their falls in similar fashion. Blood spattered into the air. Green and bright. The aliens’ blood shining emerald in the light of the planet’s twin suns. The scent of fear and feces filled the air. 

When most beings think of ‘the scent of death’ they imagine decay. Rot. Pungent and sour. But that was not accurate. That was the scent of old death. New death, fresh death, was the stink of shit and fear. It wafted around Zero-Zero-Three. He breathed it in through his nasal cavity, the stench coaxing something primal and predatory in his brain. Some hold-out from when the Horde were a natural hatched species and not cloned military engine. It heightened his senses and tightened the snap of his reflexes. Made him more alert. Ready. Dangerous. Shit, and fear, and urine, and blood. The scent of prey. 

Wrenching the blade out of the body he was on, Zero-Zero-Three was sprayed with thick green blood. It spattered across his face, staining his skin. But he didn’t pause, he didn’t even seem to notice as he twisted around to bring the shaft of his pike around into the glubog (equivalent of a kidney) of the next nearest native. The creature went down, clutching their side, and Zero-Zero-Three plunged the pike into their skull. It cracked like a faulty cloning tank, spilling green blood and pink brain matter over the polished roof. 

His team made quick work of all the hostiles on the roof. Soon, only Horde clone troopers were still standing. Their boots making ripples in the pools of green blood that were spreading over the floor. 

Zero-Zero-Three looked across the roof he was standing on to the building next door. The capital building. His real target. 

Now, if the second team would get their thumbs out of their cloacas and deactivate the buildin’s shield, Zero-Zero-Three and his team could get inside. 

He looked down into the street below. 

There was the beta-team, held up by their own share of angry and hostile natives. Reaching into his battle belt, Zero-Zero-Three took out three of the same small throwing blades that Hode favored. About as long as his middle finger, sharp, but with multiple points like the wings of the Horde Imperial banner. Zero-Zero-Three threw them down into the disorderly ‘line’ of insurgents below. His aim was not as good as Hode’s would have been, but then, the throwing blades were the older clone’s favorite weapon. But his throw was strong and Zero-Zero-Three managed to –if not kill- then at least disable two of the hostiles. 

One of his own clone troopers looked up to see where the projectiles had come from. Their glowing eyes met across the distance. Then the trooper below was run through the stomach by a native’s bayonet. Idiot. That was what he got for allowing himself to become distracted. The Empire had no use for just weakness of mind and character. Zero-Zero-Three hoped not to see him in the High Host when his number was called. 

In spite of the casualty to their own side, the beta-team managed to get to the capitol building’s breakers and deactivate the building’s power –and by extension, its shield. 

Getting a running start, Zero-Zero-Three used his force-pike to poll vault from his roof into the capitol building. Twisting his body mid-flight to get his legs in front of him so that he was feet first when he smashed through the window he was aiming at. 

Colorful shards of stained glass that might have been depicting a scene from the aliens’ mythos erupted around him in a jagged halo of sharp, knife-like glass. 

There was a pair of native guards in the corridor when he burst in. But the violence of his appearance startled them, and they hesitated. They had not been a warrior people prior to Horde occupation and they still were not much of a warrior people now. Collapsing his force-pike to be more efficient in the now close quarters of the building corridor, Zero-Zero-Three stabbed one alien at the base of their neck-column, and kicked the other. One died almost instantly, the other staggered back against the wall. Wrenching the blade out of the first body, Zero-Zero-Three slashed across the ocular organs of the second, causing the creature to blead out. 

He glanced up and down the corridor, getting his bearings. Then dashed down the hall to where the schematics he studied during the mission briefing said the governor’s office should be. 

Zero-Zero-Three found it on his first try. 

Bursting through the office doors, re-extending his force-pike to full length in mid-action. 

The central office for organization and control of the planet. From the console in the desk, Zero-Zero-Three could punch in a command to shut down all non-Horde weapons on the planet. 

The self-appointed leader of the rebellion that fancied itself a revolution was standing behind the desk. Four rebel guards surrounded and protected them. Two of them carried laser-rifles. Zero-Zero-Three register the weapons just seconds before the two aliens lifted the barrels to face the door. 

Not thinking, just acting, Zero-Zero-Three dropped to the floor, laying the shaft of his pike flat against his stomach as he curled into a summersault. Rolling forward to close the distance between himself and the rebel soldiers. 

He ended the summersault in a crouch, right in the middle of the four of them. He swung his weapon in a wide crescent, twirling the shaft so the momentum could put more force into the blows. He knocked the aliens’ multiple legs out from under them, bringing all four to the ground at the same time that he bounced back to his feet. Looming above them, Zero-Zero-Three sunk his blade into the hearts of one, while shifting his footing to stomp on the esophagus of another. Killing two at once. A third, he slashed as the alien was trying to get back up, running it through with his pike. He had to kick the body hard putting most of his weight behind hid foot to get the creature off the shaft, and the body fell backwards onto the fourth. Pinned under its own fallen comrade, it was helpless when Zero-Zero-Three brought the blade of his pike down into the aliens ocular organs. 

All four guards dead, the office carpet –previously a rich golden color- soaking up their viscous green blood, Zero-Zero-Three turned to face the rebel leader. 

The native reached once of their tentacles into a drawer of the desk and pulled out a short-range burst pistol. The alien raised its tentacle, pointing the weapon at his Horde attacker. But Zero-Zero-Three moved faster, zigging to the side to avoid any lucky shot the creature might get off, and swinging his pike down so that the blade severed the limb holding the pistol. 

Howling in pain, the rebel leader collapsed to the floor, holding the severed stump of their tentacle with two others. 

“I surrender!” The alien sobbed, or rather, said with a wet throaty sound that was their species’ equivalent of a sob. “I surrender!”

They were the leader of their so-called ‘revolution’. They probably thought they had value as a political hostage. 

They didn’t realize that Horde had no use for ‘political hostages’.

Zero-Zero-Three kicked the sobbing creature out of the way, the kick landing in the alien’s glubog. He booted up the governor’s terminal and punched in the code that shut down all non-Horde weapons on the planet. Within a matter of moments, every single native, rebel insurgent and uninvolved bystander alike became defenseless, exposed, and vulnerable to the Horde. 

That done, Zero-Zero-Three picked up the still sobbing alien leader –former leader- and carried them to the central office’s observation balcony. Using the creature’s own tentacles –the unsevered ones- to tie them to the railing, Zero-Zero-Three hung the native out for all their followers to see. 

Then he cut the creature across the ocular organs and let them bleed out. Bright green blood that sparkled emerald in the light of the suns dripping down into the street below. Nothing killed rebel moral like gruesome public displays. 

His communicator beeped as he walked back into the office, eyes scanning the wall for more doors or exits that might be concealing more hostiles. He did not want to go to the Al High Host as the idiot who died after the mission was almost done. Never letting his guard down, keeping his pike raised, Zero-Zero-Three tapped his Force Captain badge, opening the two-way channel. “Report.”

“It’s over, Captain.” Said the voice on the other end. A voice identical to Zero-Zero-Three’s own. They were all clones made from the same being. They were all identical apart from environmental factors. “The rebels are routed and those still alive are in retreat.”

“Kill them, sub-Commander.” Zero-Zero-Three ordered. “We do not leave enemies at our back to rally and return.”

“Yes, sir!” The channel did not click off there. In the background, Zero-Zero-Three could hear the screams of non-Horde creatures dying, or begging for their lives. “There is one other item of note, Captain. The rebels never killed the Territory Captain, they kept his as a political hostage. He and his staff are still alive. We have them in custody if you’d like to debrief them, sir.”

Well, Lord Hode had ordered Zero-Zero-Three to bring him the Territory Captain if he were still alive. 

“I would.” He shut off the comm channel.

Things were quiet by the time he reached the ground level of the capitol building. The only non-Horde beings were immobile bodies lying in pools of thick green blood. The Territory Captain and his staff were already in the lobby, massaging abrasions on their wrists from where they had been bound. Five Horde clones. None of them in standard issue uniforms. 

Striding up to the group, Zero-Zero-Three looked them over. “Which of you was the Territory Captain in charge of this world?”

One of them stepped forward, raising his chin. “Captain Eight-Two-Seven.”

Zero-Zero-Three nodded. “You’re coming with me.” He grabbed the other clone by the arm and dragged him out of the building. “Kill his men.”

…

Back aboard the Vinyl Hood, Zero-Zero-Three stood at the Territory Captain’s back while Lord Hode paced in front of them. 

“You were given this world to hold it, Captain.” Hode informed the Territory Captain. 

His boots barely making a sound, the hem of his cape ghosting over the floor as he moved. With that cape surrounding him, and that hood up over his head, Hode looked like a part of the darkness itself. A living shadow. All that could be seen of him in the dim light was his glowing red eyes. Identical to the other two clones, but somehow more intimidating that the two younger clones could ever hope to be. 

“I did hold the planet!” Argued the Captain. 

Behind him, Zero-Zero-Three could not help but shake his head. The idiot actually thought he could talk back to a cabinet Lord and still walk away with his life? Moron. 

“For five years, I held that backwater dump for the Empire!”

“And yet, I had to travel seven-hundred lightyears away from my quarter of the Empire to take it back for you.” Hode informed the Territory Captain. “If you need a Lord to fly out and rescue you every time the locals get a little restless, then you’re not holding it!”

“I did my job-“

“No. You didn’t.” Hode cut him off. “My Force Captain did your job.”

The Territory Captain turned around to glare at Zero-Zero-Three. A younger clone from a later batch, standing at parade rest, his expression neutral and staring ahead. An obedient military robot. “This mindless piece of luh’suh-“

“Zero-Zero-Three, you have my permission to silence him.” Hode announced. 

Obediently, the younger clone stepped forward and delivered a hard punch to the Territory Captain’s middle mass. The other clone doubled over, sinking to his knees in front of Zero-Zero-Three, arms wrapped around his diaphragm. 

“I had hoped to educate you, Captain.” Hode continued to speak even if the Territory Captain was no longer looking at him. “But if you’re just going to argue excuses for your incompetence, then no lessons can be learned here. As shame. I do so hate to waste resources. But then, an officer who cannot learn from his failings is not a resource, is he? An officer who cannot learn from his failings has no value. If you have no value, then you serve no purpose.” A pause to shift his glowing gaze to his own Force Captain. “Zero-Zero-Three, what do we do with things that serve no purpose?”

“Discard them, my Lord.” Nodded the younger clone. 

The Lord nodded. 

Reaching a hand into his belt, Zero-Zero-Three pulled out another of those throwing blades his Lord favored. Small, but sharp, and multi-pointed like the wings of their banners. He slashed the winged blade across the kneeling Captain’s throat in one quick motion. 

Territory Captain Eight-Two-Seven fell to the floor. One hand clutching his open throat as he bled out. A pool of dark purple forming at Zero-Zero-Three’s feet. 

He took one step to the side to avoid his boots getting stained. Reaching a hand to his chest, Zero-Zero-Three called for a clean-up crew to service his Lord’s sanctum. 

“Do you know how to hold a planet, Zero-Zero-Three?” Hode asked. 

…

Hordak locked the collar of his exo-suit into place. 

He had been living –if you could call it ‘living’- on Etheria for almost thirty years by this point. Not only had Hordak failed to capture the whole of the planet, he failed to hold the parts that he had conquered. 

“What are you still doing in here?” 

Hordak turned at the voice to see Catra leaning against the sickbay doorframe. Thank the Host she didn’t appear until after his armor and exo-suit was back in place. Hordak did not trust the feline soldier not to kill him while his back was turned and he was vulnerable. 

“I am no use to you if my…” he hated the word he was about to admit to her hearing “…infirmity prevents me from preforming the task you desire.”

“I didn’t ask what you were doing in here, I asked what you were still doing in here!” Catra snapped, impatient. “If you’re too pathetic to dress yourself, maybe I should get one of the guys to help you.”

“That will not be necessary.” Hordak assured her. “I am quite self-sufficient.”

He tried to brush past the small cat-woman. 

Catra blocked his path, throwing one arm across the doorway and gripping the frame on the other side. “Just make sure you actually are preforming that task.” She told him. “If you’re not doing what I asked, then there’s no point to me keeping your gloomy tail around at all.”

“Your meaning is clear.” He nodded to her, refusing to appear intimidated by this uppity alien with an inflated sense of her own power, that was half his height. 

‘If you have no value, then you serve no purpose. Zero-Zero-Three, what do we do with things that serve no purpose?’

…


	12. Scenic Beast Island

“Fascinating…” Muttered Entrapta as she rose up on her hair to examine a thick green vine. 

It was as wide as her wrist –ungloved wrist, her protective gloves added some girth- multiple shades of green in a regular and alternating patterns, more like stripes than tonal. She prodded the vine with a tendril of hair.

The vine sprang to life, the arrow shaped head of a snake uncoiling from one end and lashing out at the human that dared disturb it. 

With a gasp, Entrapta slammed her welding mask down over her face only a mere heartbeat before the snake’s fangs could pierce her eye. The snake’s face smacked against the protective metal plating, breaking its fangs and abrating its nose. It hung from the tree, stunned and dazed. 

Entrapta lifted her mask again. “The vine I was studying turned out to be a snake, excellent natural camouflage. Hostile response appears to be instinctive.” She announced. “Subject jumped to violence like a loaded spring before analyzing for a more effective strategy.”

“Are you okay up there?” Micah called from where he stood below her on the jungle floor. 

That was right. He escaped with her. Entrapta almost forgot he was there. Wrapping a tendril of hair around the dazed but still alive snake’s neck, she pulled the creature out of the tree and held it away from herself for Micah to see. “Can you cook?” She called down to her fellow escapee. “If you can, then I caught breakfast! I only eat tiny food, though, so if you can cut it small, that’d be great!”

Tightening her hair, Entrapta snapped the snake’s neck to make sure it was dead before dropping it down to where Micah stood, looking up at her with mingled concern and exasperation. A common expression people seemed to have around her. Concern for her or concern for what she was doing, it didn’t matter, it all meant the same thing –their concern meant they doubted her, doubted her wisdom, or expertise, or if she knew what she was doing might be dangerous. Exasperation meant they had lost patience with her, she was bothering them, they were not actually friends. Just like Adora, Glimmer, and Bow. Just like Catra. Just like…

Hordak was the only one who never looked at her with concern or exasperation. Hordak never doubted her abilities, her intelligence, her talent, or her knowledge and skill in her chosen field. Hordak never seemed exasperated with her. Annoyed sometimes, sure. He was closed off and emotionally stinted while she was energetic and animated. All of Entrapta’s previous research informed her that two such personalities working in close quarters would annoy each other a little bit. She certainly found his pessimism and bursts of anger when an experiment failed to be annoying. But annoyance was not exasperation. Hordak was the only person who never looked at her with exasperation and concern. 

When Hordak looked at her, it was with… surprise. She certainly had a habit of exceeding his expectations. From the first moment she fixed his power source, to when she started making progress on his portal, to when her response to the confessions of his… disability was to construct a new and better prosthetic aid for him. Hordak looked at her with pleasant surprise. Even admiration. 

Hordak looked at Entrapta with admiration. 

None of her other so called ‘friends’ looked at her like that. 

Not even Micah, the latest in a long line of ‘single serving’ friends that would untimely discard her once she was no longer useful. 

Using her hair, Entrapta lowered herself down to him. “Do you have a magic spell to make fire? Or should I do that for us too?”

“I can build a fire for us.” Micah assured her, sounding defensive, as if he felt she was calling him useless. 

Entrapta shrugged. People often appeared insulted or frustrated with her when all she would do is ask a simple question or make a factual statement. She would never understand the finer nuances of interpersonal behavior. She studied it whenever she could. At Princess Prom, within the Alliance, even observing Horde soldiers in between hacking the planet and building the portal. Entrapta had logged countless hours of observation of interpersonal behaviors. None of her observations had helped her with her own interpersonal relationships. 

The Alliance still abandoned her. Catra still betrayed her. Hordak never came to release her from prison. Now Micah was insulted for no perceivable reason. Entrapta lowered her welding mask back down over her face. She would never understand people. 

Micah traced a sigil on the ground in front of him and a roaring fire sprang to life in the center of the circle. 

Pushing her multiple failed experiments with friendship out of her mind, Entrapta bent down next to the circle. On all fours, face low to the ground. Were it not for her welding mask, her nose would be dangerously close to the flames. “Fascinating…” She muttered. “The characters inside this ring of the sigil are completely different from the characters in your static-freezing spell from earlier.” She reached into her overalls for her recorder, only to be reminded that it wasn’t there because she didn’t have it and didn’t know where it went. “The design in the center is different too.”

Micah, seeing that her face was so close to the flames she was almost crawling into the fire dropped the snake he’d just started skinning and rushed over to pick the Princess up off the ground. “Nope! Nope! Nope!” He chided as if he were disciplining baby Glimmer. “We do not sit that close to fire. Fire dangerous!”

Entrapta lifted her welding mask and glared up at him, now it was her turn to be insulted. “I know fire is dangerous.” She informed him. “Some of my earliest experiments were with combustibles. I understand thermodynamics, how fire behaves, and how radiating heat can still cause damage.” She snapped her welding mask back down over her face and held up her gloved hands. “That’s why a good scientist wears protection.”

Using a tendril of hair, she latched onto the first tree branch that was strong enough to hold her weight and hoisted herself up into the jungle canopy. 

For all their many faults and failings, the Alliance never treated her like a child, Catra never implied that she was ignorant or didn’t know what she was doing, and Hordak… Hordak encouraged Entrapta’s innovations. 

When he discovered that she theorized it was possible to ‘hack the planet’ he didn’t try and tell her it was impossible, or that she didn’t know what she was talking about, or that you couldn’t hack planets –they’re planets, not computers!- no. He just nodded and gave her the Black Garnet to get to work. When he discovered her in his Sanctum working on his power generators, yeah okay, he was mad at first, sure. Any scientist who’d just had their private lab violated would be. But the moment he saw what it was she actually did in his lab, he invited her back in. Showed her his researched, shared his equations and opened up a whole new realm of exploration and possibilities for her. Hordak showed Entrapta the stars! 

Stars. Burning balls of gasses so hot their heat radiated out far enough to warm planets. Not Etheria. Etheria had no star. Their light and heat came from the Glow Moon. But other planets, out there in the other dimension, outside Despondos. Where Hordak came from. A place called ‘the Known Universe’. 

Hordak never treated Entrapta like she was a child, or reckless, or ignorant. In many ways, Hordak was actually the perfect partner for her. 

Lap partner. The perfect lab partner for her. 

Perfect except for the fact that he left her here. On Beast Island. A Horde penal colony. He was leader of the Horde on Etheria. One word from him would have been all it took to get her freed and sent home. It wasn’t like it was hard. He gave orders every day. So, why had he… left her here…?

“Breakfast’s almost ready!” Micah called from the jungle floor below. “Snake meat is thin, so it cooks really fast.”

Entrapta’s hair lowered her back down. This time she did not get close to the magical fire, even if the fact that it was burning without need of fuel was fascinating. She sat down at what she imagined Micah would approve of as a ‘safe distance’ and lifted her welding mask to eat. 

Micah turned around to give her her portion –which he had obediently cut into tiny pieces- but he paused when he saw her face. “Shoot! I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

“What?” Entrapta blinked at him. She reached a hand up to probe at the skin of her cheek. Her glove came away wet. She had been crying. “No. It- it wasn’t what you said. I just- I was just thinking about- my lab partner.”

“Oh.” 

She was thinking about a loved one. Someone she was separated from by the Horde. Just like he was separated from his wife and daughter. Micah passed her the tiny cuts of snake meat and sat down next to her. 

“I think about Angella and Glimmer a lot.” He informed her. “Glimmer was just learning to walk when I was captured. Just this tiny little thing, waddling around on chubby legs and leaving a trail of glitter everywhere.” He smiled fondly at the memory. “Gosh, she must be so tall by now! Angella was like a tree, ya know. My sister thought it’d eventually bother me –having a wife that was taller than me- but then Casta and Angie never really got along all that well to begin with. I hope they’ve been doing alright without me…” He looked up at the jungle canopy, wistful.

Entrapta looked down at her food. Her research told her than this was the part where she would be expected to share some of her relationship with the person she was separated from. Micah had volunteered some of his feelings, he would expect her to reciprocate. 

“I understand it can be hard to talk about them sometimes.” Micah said gently. “Especially if the hurt is still fresh. Your lab partner, was she… also taken by the Horde?”

She looked back up from her food, considered how she should answer. Finally. “The Horde thought he was a failure.” She announced. “The Horde discarded him, and expected him to die.” There was no need for King Micah of Brightmoon, leader of the First Rebellion against the Etherian Horde to know exactly which ‘Horde’ she was talking about. “But he wasn’t a failure. He was brilliant. When he and I worked together… It felt like we could open up worlds!”

She smiled into a bite of her meat, smiling at how her words were both filled with dramatic imagery and also accurate. Entrapta never seemed to have the gift for poetic imagery before. This was something new. New since meeting a grumpy alien who came from a world beyond Despondos. 

“He sounds like a very fine fellow.” Micah said gently. “Is he still out there? Do you want to get back to him like I want to get back to my wife? Or… did the Horde… kill him when you were captured?”

Inexplicably, for reasons Entrapta didn’t understand, she shot to her feet. “Killed!”

“Sorry.” Said Micah quickly. “I just assumed. Since you said the Horde wanted him to die before. I thought they would finish the job when they captured you.”

The thought of Hordak being dead hadn’t even occurred to Entrapta. 

She thought he was just leaving her to rot on Beast Island because she changed her mind at the last minute and decided they couldn’t open the portal. She thought he was mad because she had basically decided that he couldn’t go home. The idea that he might not have released her was because he wasn’t around anymore to release her never even entered her mind. 

But…

Did it make sense?

Could Hordak be dead?

She had no idea what happened after Catra shocked her. She was unconscious up until the moment she woke up in her cell. She still existed and the world was still here, so –clearly- the portal hadn’t been opened. Did that mean that the Princesses won? That they stopped Hordak and Catra. That they… killed Hordak? Was Hordak dead?

“He- he can’t be.” Entrapta slammed her welding mask down over her face as if the metal plating could shield her from her own feelings. 

Hordak was also very frail. The exo-suit she made for him gave him the strength and mobility he was supposed to have as a healthy Horde clone. But it wasn’t perfect. Heck! It shorted out any time his heart rate got too high. It went into a mild tizzy just because he got worked up yelling at Adora. What would happen if it locked up in the middle of a fight? 

He would get killed. That’s what!

Entrapta stifled a sob. It was starting to feel moist and muggy behind her welding mask and it had nothing to do with the jungle humidity. 

“He’s not dead!” She shouted to the trees around them, voice high with defiance. “He can’t be…”

Micah stood, reaching an arm out to the Princess as if to hug her, but he paused, unsure if he should. Entrapta had been markedly cold to him to spite their escape together. For the most part, he kinda expected a level of frigidity from Queen Ensnarea’s daughter. But then, Entrapta seemed to have warm feelings for this young man –her lab partner- so, clearly, it was not all people she was cold to. Micah did not give the comfort he originally meant to. 

She looked back at him, lifting her mask. Micah saw the fresh tears in her eyes. “Is that why he hasn’t gotten me out yet? He can’t get me off Beast Island because he’s- …not here anymore…”

This time, Micah did wrap his arms around her. 

Entrapta sobbed into his chest. “He’s not here anymore.”

Then an entirely different idea occurred to her. He wasn’t here anymore! He wasn’t on Etheria! Maybe the reason he hadn’t ordered her release or come for her himself wasn’t because he was dead. Maybe he just went home! Out of Despondos. Back to Horde Prime. His ‘big brother’. She hoped he was happy. Happy, healthy, and alive. 

She pushed away from Micah, feeling more optimistic. Hordak wasn’t dead. He just went home. That was his plan. He probably wasn’t even aware of what happened to her. It wasn’t because he didn’t care about her anymore or that he was mad because she changed her mind about the portal. It wasn’t because he was dead. It was because he just went home and didn’t know. 

“It’s fine. I’m fine.” She informed him. “Friends leave me all the time.”

Micah felt like he was suddenly experiencing whiplash. Just a second ago, she was crying into his chest. Seemingly reeling from a realization that her beloved lab partner was most likely dead. Now she was fine. Dry eyed, and smiling. Saying ‘friends left her all the time’, as if he hadn’t died, he just went away somewhere. Micah hadn’t seen a case of self-delusion so bad since he was still living in Mysticore. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He asked. 

“Yup!” Entrapta wiped her eyes one more time to make sure they were dry. “If you’re done eating, we should get moving. There’s still so much of the island left to explore! We’re barely into the jungle. I do actually wanna see the Great Beast, and I’ve heard there are natives that are indigenous to this island before the Horde made a base here. I wanna meet them too! Maybe after that, we can go back to the compound. I’m still curious about the odd acoustics. Like I said, the building’s more like an amplifier than a building. It almost reminds me of-“

“What about escaping?” Micah cut her off. 

She blinked at him, almost as if she didn’t understand the question. They were already out of prison. “Oh! You mean getting off the island!” Entrapta waved her hand dismissively. “You can go if you want to go. That’s fine.” She was used to her friends leaving her, and Micah wasn’t even really her friend. 

Micah raised an eyebrow at her. “I can’t tell if you’re being flippant because you’re Queen Ensnarea’s daughter and she was always kinda…” he made a gesture with his hand that might have been rude if Entrapta had cared “…of if you’re being flippant because you just realized your lap partner friend most likely past away.”

“He’s not dead!” Entrapta snapped. “He just went home!”

“Okay.” Micah threw up his arms in surrender. If she wanted to delude herself into believing that her lab partner –that the Horde originally meant to die- wasn’t killed when they captured her, that was fine. Heck. He might even actually be alive. Micah wasn’t there when Princess Entrapta was captured. He didn’t see the raid. He didn’t know the story. For all either of them knew, the Princess’ gentleman lab partner was still alive and working on a plan to rescue her right now. 

They might have said more. But at that exact moment, a herd of snorters came charging into their clearing. 

Short, quadrupedal, pig-like creatures. Bluish-gray in color, with cloven hooves, white tusks, elongated snouts, and a razorback streak of fur that went from their head almost all the way down the length of their bodies to the tail. Entrapta had never seen one before, only heard about them. To spite the fact that their sudden appearance forced her and Micah to retreat up into the trees to avoid being gored, she thought they were cute. Baker made her a bite-sized cake that looked like a snorter once. She thought it was absolutely adorable!

The heard was five of the creatures. Two full-sized adults, and three smaller ones that had to be their offspring. One of the adults lead the stampede while the second adult brought up the rear, making sure none of the young fell behind. It prodded the little one’s in the tail to urge them to pick up the speed. That was the behavior of fleeing a predator. 

“We need to get out of here too.” Micah whispered from where he was awkwardly positioned. Half-suspended by a hastily cast levitation spell, half-clinging desperately to the closest branch to him that might be able to support his bulk. Even being half starved for ten years, Micah was still larger than Entrapta, the trees did not support his weight the way they did hers. 

No sooner had be said this, than the snorter’s predators melted out from the trees in pursuit of their prey. 

Both Entrapta and Micah had been expecting another of Beast Island’s famous beasts. If not the Great Beast, then a flying tyrosour, or some other terrifying but little understood creature that called the island home. Instead, the party that melted out from the trees was just a group of humans. 

Not Horde soldiers. 

Natives by the looks of it. They wore fur loincloths around their waists to cover their most intimate parts, and hide boots to protect their feet. But apart from that, they were mostly naked. Amber-gold skin covered in tattoos, and dark hair plucked into sharp, rooster-comb mowhawks, the front tuft colored in different shades of red. 

Excited, because she’d never encountered Beast Island natives before either, Entrapta jumped down from the trees –much to Micah’s frustrated horror. 

“Entrapta! Entrapta, don’t-! Urgh!” He sounded very much like his daughter in that moment. 

Entrapta ignored him. She landed right next to native’s hunting party, startling them. Before she even had time to think of what she was going to say, Entrapta found three stone spearheads pointed at her face. 

“Uh, hi?” She ventured. She went cross-eyes, trying to get a better look at the spear almost a hair’s width from her nose. Chipped from stone, formed to be razor sharp on the edges, the taper ending in an almost needle point. It was fitted into a split in the wood of the spear and tied with sinew threads. A primitive design, certainly, but highly innovative given the materials they had to work with. Entrapta liked it. She wrapped her hair around the weapon and pulled it out of the shocked native’s grasp. “Ooh, wow! It’s so much lighter than I was expecting. What kind of stone is this? It’s gotta be dense and substantial enough to make a reliable blade and not break when it stabs something, but it’s so light it doesn’t throw off the balance of the shaft at all.” She smiled at the one she took the spear from. “Can I have this?”

The hunter’s expression shifted from shocked to irritated and mildly confused very quickly. Most people who were threatened with spears did not admire them and ask permission to take them. He grabbed hold of his weapon and tried to yank it back out of her hair. “No. It is mine!”

“Aw.” Entrapta was visibly disappointed. 

Micah changed the symbol in the center of his levitation sigil and floated down to land gently next to the Princess. He looked at the natives, still holding their spears pointed at them. “You speak the common tongue.”

The three of them exchanged a look. As if silently agreeing between themselves that the newcomer was an idiot. 

“We live on an island, not one of the moons.” Said the one Entrapta tried to take the spear from. Finally succeeding in pulling his spear away from the Princess’ hair, he thrust the point at Micah instead. “Now, you interrupted our hunt. We’ll take you back to the village instead.”

“Ooh! Are you cannibals?” It was wrong how excited Entrapta sounded when she asked that. “I’ve always been curious about prions found in the human brain and the effects eating them has on other people. That is, assuming you also eat the brain. Do you eat the brain, too?”

The three of them exchanged another look, as if silently agreeing that this woman was insane. 

“No.” Said the first. “You are clearly Horde scouts. We’re taking you back to be questioned.”

“Horde scouts? We’re not Horde scouts!” Micah was more insulted by the idea that he looked anything like a member of the Horde than he was the prospect of being taken by the natives and interrogated and possibly tortured. “We hate the Horde! We just escaped their prison!”

“Wow.” Said a second. “How dumb do you think we are? No one escapes the Horde prison.” 

“Well, it did take me a couple of days.” Entrapta admitted, shrugging with her hair instead of her shoulders. 

The three exchanged another look, not quite sure how to interpret this insane woman. She didn’t seem like a Horde scout. She was too bonkers. Maybe she really had escaped, and the man was sent out to retrieve her. That could make sense. 

“Keep your hands where we could see them and start moving!” Ordered the native Entrapta tried to take the spear from. 

They were lead through the jungle. Entrapta had to coil her hair tight to her body to avoid it getting caught on protruding branches or low hanging vines as the party delved deeper in the denser trees. Micah nearly tripped on a raised root more than once. Twice they were almost bitten by one of the same vine-camouflage snakes Entrapta had encountered earlier in the morning. 

Everythign was so green and lush. The trees old, their branches dense. Beast Island was actually kinda pretty. Scenic. If it weren’t for all the dangerous beasts that roamed the island –and the Horde gulag- it might actually have been an attractive island getaway. 

“Your village must be really far away.” Micah commented. “Why do you hunt so far away? Has the Horde damaged the environment to the point where game animals are scares?” 

“More likely they’re taking us on a deliberately longer path to confuse our sense of direction.” Entrapta informed him. “This jungle is like a maze, not unlike my own Crypto Castle.” 

“Quiet! Both of you!” Snapped the second native. He slid up close to the first. “J’Milla, are you sure it’s wise to take these outsiders back with us?”

The first native, the one Entrapta tried to take the spear from –J’Milla, apparently- made a face. “What woud you have me do, Korg? Leave them to wander the jungle? If they are Horde scouts, they would report back about us. If they are innocent as they claim, they die without aid.”

“We could kill them and not leave it up to chance.” The second, Korg, informed him. 

J’Milla just shook his head. “I will not execute a stranger for no other reason than they are a stranger to me. That is what the Horde would do. We must be careful to make sure we do not become what it is we fight against.”

Korg only scoffed in reply. 

“I’m King Micah.” Announced the sorcerer after hearing that the natives were ‘fighting against’ the Horde. He did not expect to find new allies for the Alliance while getting lost in the jungle. But if an opportunity presented itself, why waste it? The Alliance could always use new allies. 

Similar to Entrapta, none of the natives reacted upon hearing his name. However, unlike Entrapta, their lack of reaction was not because they just didn’t care who he was. It was because they had never heard of ‘King Micah’ before and didn’t know who he was. They had never heard of the Sorcerer King from Brightmoon who fell ten years ago during the first Princess Alliance. 

“We do not recognize the authority of kings.” Korg informed him. 

“No, that’s not what I meant!” Micah had to quickly backpedal. “I mean, I was a leader of the Rebellion against the Horde before I was captured. If you’re fighting against the Horde we should be allies! Let us help you! I’m a sorcerer, and Princess Entrapta here is-“ he paused, unsure of what powers the Queens and Princesses of Dryl actually had apart from hair that could be used as extra limbs, she said she had a lab so… “-is very smart.”

“I’m beginning to form a hypothesis as to where Glimmer got her talent for rousing speeches.” Entrapta muttered. 

“That’s enough out of you two!” Korg snapped. 

Their winding journey through the jungle seemed to finally be coming to a conclusion as the unmistakable sounds of human habitation drifted through the trees. People singing while at work, children laughing, the scrape of tools on wood, the sounds of a thriving village. And it was a thriving village they came into when they stepped out from the shadow of the trees. 

A wide clearing. Micah and Entrapta would be lying if they didn’t admit they were expecting grass huts. But there weren’t any. Instead, the village buildings were just that –actual buildings. Made from wood planks cut from the jungle trees. The roofs were thatched in grass, but only the roofs. Everything else was solid wood construction. Almost like a village of cabins. Slits were cut into the planks of the walls of many buildings –presumably for airflow to keep things cool in the jungle heat. Entrapta once again had to admire the ingenuity, with limited materials to work with and a lack of technology for interior climate control, they still found ways to keep their homes cool. She very quickly decided that she liked these people. Their tech wasn’t very advanced, but they were engineers. Like her. 

They were lead through the village. 

As they passed, people looked up to gawk at them. You’d think the hunting parties never brought back prisoners before. Children paused in their games to gawk at them. Young people and adults looked up from their work. Their weaving, or flax grinding being ignored in front of them while they gawked, wide eyed, at the prisoners that J’Milla and Korg had brought home with them. 

Entrapta and Micah were practically shoved into a darkened building. 

It took a few moments for their eyes to adjust. The day was so bright outside, but the only light in here was what streamed in through the slits in the wooden walls. When their eyes did adjust, Entrapta and Micah stood in a wide room with an open floorplan that looked like it must serve as some kind of meeting place. There were cushions and pillows lining three of the four walls, in an almost horse shoe, curling around with the entrance as the focal point. Clearly, seating for spectators to watch or listen to whatever was happening in the middle of the room. 

Both Micah and Entrapta got their knees knock out from under them by the shafts of spears. They knelt in the middle of the room. 

J’Milla and Korg sat in front of them. While the third member of their hunting party loomed behind, spear at the ready in case the prisoners decided to make a break for it. 

“Now,” began J’Milla, “you’re going to tell us the tale of your daring escape from the Horde, and after its done we’ll decide whether or not we believe you, or if you’re Horde scouts.”

…


	13. Clarity of Communication

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scorpia gets a song in this one. Its an IRL song. You can listen to it here: [Twiddle](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JAvWu6pILKk)  
Enjoy.

“Do you know any other songs?” Scorpia asked. 

It wasn’t that she didn’t like Sea Hawk’s personal theme song. It was just that listening to it for days in a row was making her kinda, sorta… absolutely hate that song. 

Emily warmed up her pain plasma gun and fired a warning shot off the port side of the ship, then pivoted on her immobile leg to stare down the musical pirate. 

Scorpia placed a calming pincer on the bot’s dome. “I think what Emily is trying to say is that we’ve heard that one a lot, and if you don’t know any other songs, maybe we should just sail in silence for a bit.”

Looking out across the water at the wake created by Emily’s warning shot, Sea Hawk swallowed awkwardly. The refurbished Horde bot was highly opinionated and not shy about expressing herself. He looked to Scorpia, seeking a compromise. “Alright, well, do you know any sea shanties?”

Taping a pincer against her lips, Scorpia thought. “Well, I did hear one sung around Redwater Bay once…”

A Horde song. 

Sea Hawk was concerned. That did not stop him from plastering a crud-eating grin on his face and suggesting, “Well, why don’t you sing for a bit.”

“Really!?” It was wrong how excited the former Horde Force Captain sounded at the suggestion. “You’ll let me sing? And you won’t get annoyed. Or tell me I need to focus. Or remind me that we’re on a mission and have a job to do. Or ask how I’m a Force Captain.” She wasn’t a Force Captain anymore. “Or anything like that?”

“I won’t.” Sea Hawk promised. He did, however, move across the deck to the helm –the complete opposite end of the ship form her- under the pretext of checking the wind and their heading. He had no idea what this Horde shanty was going to be and he liked to have an excuse ready on hand to politely ask her to stop if need be. “Let’s hear it.”

Scorpia cleared her throat and tried to remember the lyrics. 

“Oh you hear a lot of stories 'bout the sailors and their sport.  
About how every sailor has a girl in every port.  
But if you added two and two, you'd figure out right quick,  
it's just because the girls all have a lad on every ship.”

Sea Hawk raised an eyebrow. It didn’t seem all that bad. Certainly much more tame and cute compared to what he was expecting from a song sung in the Fright Zone’s Redwater Bay. He was far less apprehensive and in better spirits when Scorpia launched into the chorus. 

“And it's twiddle ee ai dee ai dee ai.  
“Twiddle ee ai dee ei.  
“It's often times a man will leave you broken with dismay.  
“And it's twiddle ee ai dee ai dee ai.  
“Twiddle ee ai dee ei.  
“There's other things to twiddle when the men have sailed away.”

Wait… Sea Hawk straightened at the helm, not quite sure if he was disliking this song now for entirely different reason that had nothing to do with the Horde. This song wasn’t about… what he thought it was about… was it?

“Lucky Annie was a lady who'd been pleased by many men.  
“They all would sail away but then they'd come right back again.  
“But if they never sailed her way she really didn't care.  
“Cause she knows you don't need a man to twiddle under there.”

Oh. Yeah. This song was totally about what Sea Hawk thought it was about. Sea Hawk plastered that crap-eating grin back on his face, hoping Scorpia would assume he was enjoying himself and he thought about Mermista and how she didn’t really seem to enjoy his company unless she needed something from him, and even then, she acted like he was a great inconvenience. She certainly never needed him to… ‘twiddle under there’, as the song said. 

“So next time you're with a lady and she takes you to her bed,  
“Be sure to please her well, and remember what we've said.  
“For if you do not treat her right, then know that this is true:  
“Us ladies all can have our fun without involving you!” 

Scorpia ran through the chorus two more times before the song ended. She looked up at the rest of the crew, to gauge her song’s reception. She hadn’t sung –anything- in years, and this little sea chanty she barely remembered the lyrics too wasn’t exactly her best work. She hoped she didn’t do too bad. 

Emily let out an odd sort of digital chirping sound that might have been clapping. She certainly seemed to have liked it. 

Sea Hawk just kept up that crap-eating grin. “That was… not what I was expecting from a Horde song.”

Reaching up a pincer, Scorpia scratched the back of her head awkwardly. “Well, the Fright Zone’s only been under Hordak’s control for about twenty years or so. Before that, my family was the ruling power of the territory. The Fright Zone had its own culture, and art, and music, and folktales, and all that fun stuff.”

That crud-eating grin melted away, morphing into an expression of empathy. Not unlike what they shared during their time in the Northern Reach. “The Queendom of Scorpiones, right?” Sea Hawk vaguely remembered seeing an old pre-Horde map in a rubbish heap in Salineas wherein the Fright Zone was labeled ‘Scorpiones’. “What was it like?”

“Honestly? I don’t know. I was only, like, a year old when my mother abdicated and gifted Hordak with the Black Garnet as a display of fealty.” She explained. “I don’t actually have any memories of the Fright Zone before the Horde. Just what older people tell me.”

That was so sad! Sea Hawk felt himself begin to tear-up. He wanted to sing another song to lighten the mood and maybe lift Scorpia’s spirits. 

Except Scorpia didn’t really seem all that upset about it. Like she said, she had no memories of Scorpiones before it became ‘the Fright Zone’. She didn’t feel like she’d ‘lost’ anything. As far as she was concerned there was nothing to have lost. It was hard to carry nostalgia for a place or time you never saw. There was no feeling of hiraeth. 

Scorpia only shrugged. Almost as if she didn’t even care that much. “Nations rise and fall all the time. I heard the Crimson Wastes used to be a lush woodsy Queendom before it was turned into the desert it is now. Dryl used to be an industrial mining dystopia built on the backs of slaves before Entrapta took over. Lonnie’s in charge of the Fright Zone now and is already rebuilding it in the image of what she thinks an efficient military state should be. Countries change hands and then just change in general. That’s the way things are.”

“But the Fright Zone used to be your family’s Queendom.” Sea Hawk reminded her. “Don’t you. I donno… wanna take it back? I mean, now that Hordak’s out of the picture. That places you back in power, right?” 

Tapping her pincer on her lips again, Scorpia thought about that. Her in charge of the Fright Zone. Her responsible for all that technology and industry. All the weapons and vehicles. The cities and the land. The soldiers, and the workers, the people in general. She compared it to her own experiences as a Force Captain, commanding and managing vehicles and soldiers on a smaller scale. She remembered that one day she went almost out of her mind trying to find armor for soldiers that refused to fight so that Catra could plan an attack that never ended up happening. 

Scorpia shook her head. “Nah. I’m a field commander. I work best out in the open and with small groups. I don’t think I could rule a whole territory.” She admitted. “Let Lonnie keep the Fright Zone. She already seems like she’s doing a better job than I ever could or Hordak ever did. She smart and adaptable, and I’m…” for some reason the image of Catra threatening her with a stun baton flashed through her mind “…slow. I’m slow at figuring things out. With people.”

That was a sobering comment and it made Sea Hawk pause and look inward at himself and his own relationships with people. “I’m slow at that too.” He finally concluded. “Mermista only ever wanted to spend time with me what she needed something from me. She wasn’t manipulative about it or anything. She flat out told me, in words, ‘no you’re just my ride’ and I ignored it and only heard what I wanted to hear. Until, finally, she wouldn’t even let me hang out at the palace when she had her friends over.”

“I guess, people are kind like nations.” Scorpia muttered. “People act differently depending on who they’re with, just like countries are different depending on who’s in charge. Catra was always so angry whenever we’d run into Adora. But when she was with me, or Lonnie, Kyle and the team, she was better. Calmer. More social. Less discontent. People change depending on who they’re with just like countries do.”

They lapsed into a forlorn silence. Both reflecting on how the people they loved were different around other people. Or how they themselves were different depending on who they were with. 

Emily gave a sober little trill. Even she recognized that she had been different before she met Entrapta. 

The people a person –or robot- meets change them. Sometimes only temporarily, sometimes only for the space of that meeting. Or, sometimes, irrevocably for the rest of their lives. It all depended on the people and the meeting. 

“Catra always wanted to win.” Scorpia announced without prompting. “But she didn’t actually want to be happy.” A pensive frown. “I think, if I’m going to try liking someone again, I need to find someone who wants to be happy.”

Sea Hawk paused a bit longer, still reflecting on himself and his own failed relationship before announcing, “Mermista and I didn’t really have that much in common. I mean, she’s ruler of the seas, and I’m a sailor. It kinda just made sense for me to be in love with her. You know the old cliché about the sailor in love with a sea goddess.” He gave a self-deprecating laugh. “I guess I was more in love with the idea of Mermista than Mermista herself. If I’m gonna fall in love again, I have to look for someone I share common interests with.”

“Shame they don’t offer a ‘romance orientation’ huh?” She joked, remembering how helpful Force Captain Orientation had been when she was first promoted. 

“Orientation? Heck! They should offer a full-length class!” He agreed.

They shared a subdued laugh, the mood lightening up again. Not quite as light as it was before, but certainly not as grim and sober as they were just a few short moments ago. 

There was a moment’s pause to appreciate the fact that they each had someone who understood them and they could commiserate with. Maybe after this was all over they could still be friends. And when they were each ready to get back in the dating pool, they could go to one another for a second opinion on the women they chose to date so that neither one set themselves up for heartbreak again. 

Sea Hawk brushed some non-existent dust off his white shirt. “Welp, we’re about to cross over into the Growling Sea.” He announced. “I’ll need to be back at the helm.”

“Uh, yeah.” Scorpia agreed. She certainly didn’t know what to expect from a place called the ‘Growling’ Sea. 

…

Swift Wind landed on a grassy cliff overlooking the ocean. 

Not just because he would need a rest before flying three people all the way across the sea. 

They all needed a moment to get their bearings. Adora wanted to give the rest of them the rundown of what Beast Island was like and what they could expect. She had never been herself, but back during the five minutes she was a Force Captain before she defected, she did receive a memo about it. She wanted to take an opportunity to strategize with the others and come up with a plan –not that any of their plans ever seemed to work, but it just made her feel more confident to have one. 

Bow was not-so-low-key freaking out that they may-or-may-not have kidnapped Entrapta’s heir from their home. Yeah, Dak chose to go with them. Wanted to go with them. And was an active participant in their escape from the castle. Not just releasing him and Adora from the dungeon, but getting the sword and their other weapons back from the occupying Horde, and fighting off Imp and the rest of the Horde that tried to stop them from leaving. So, Dak at least, did not feel like they were kidnapped. But Dak was still a child, and Bow and Adora were (also still technically children) closer to adults and he had to wonder if they might have accidentally manipulated Dak into doing what they wanted. Bow needed to take a few minutes to work his feelings out. 

Dak was anxious to get the still unconscious Imp out of their tool bag and examine the little deamon to make sure he was okay and not permanently damaged. Imp had been Dak’s companion consistently for their entire life thus far. The hybrid’s earliest memories were of Imp helping Scorpia to smuggle them out of the Fright Zone. Of Imp sitting with them while Scorpia tried to teach Dak how to feed themself and use the toilet. Of Imp trying to teach them how to hunt as best as the tiny deamon could. Then, in the heat of the moment, Dak struck Imp on the head because the little deamon was trying to prevent them going with Adora and Bow to rescue mother. Dak saw the android’s eyes go staticy and short out. They hoped they didn’t kill Imp! 

The hybrid unzipped their tool bag, while Adora started gathering stones from the ground and arranging them in a circle in the glass. 

“Okay, this is Beast Island.” She announced, then looked up to make sure the others were paying attention. 

Swift Wind was eating grass. 

Bow was biting his nails, and glancing from Dak to the direction they’d just come, and looking worried. 

Dak was laying the winged troll in the glass and examining him. 

“Guys! Focus!” She snapped. 

Swift Wind lifted his head to give her this look like, ‘If I have to carry all three of you flightless bipeds across an ocean, I’m gonna need a snack and a rest.’ Then gave a very equine snort and went back to eating grass. 

Bow kinda hugged himself. “I think we’re kidnappers.” He muttered. “What if we’re bad guys? How are we gonna be able to face the other Princesses? How am I gonna face my dads? They raised me better than this. What am I gonna do!?”

Dak did not look up from Imp. But they were the only one to assure Adora, “I’m paying attention.”

Adora rolled her eyes. She was begging to realize that, to spite being the child of Lord Hordak, leader of the Evil Horde, Dak fit in with their group dynamic almost seamlessly. Clearing her throat, Adora tried to continue. “This is Beast Island. The Horde have a prison compound on the south coast. Here.” She stuck a stick in the ground to mark the location of the compound. “The main entrance and exit connects directly to the harbor. They’ll be expecting a frontal assault from there. But, aside from the tyrosours, none of the beast on Beast Island can fly, so security will be more relaxed on the roof.”

Bow paused in his freaking out over possibly being a kidnapper to freak out over something else. “Wait, did you say some of the man-eating beasts of Beast Island can fly?”

“She said just the tyrosours fly.” Dak supplied, still not looking up from Imp’s inert body. Apparently, the hybrid really was paying attention even if they didn’t look like they were. 

“Right.” Nodded Adora. “Which is why we’re gonna swoop down on Swift Wind and break in through the roof.”

“Do I get a say in this?” Swift Wind cut in, looking up from the grass he was eating. “I’d at least appreciate it if you consulted me before just deciding that I’m gonna be dive-bombing Horde compounds while also dodging human-eating beasts that fly as well as I do.”

A deep and gravely groan of frustration cut upwards from Adora’s throat. “No one said the tyrosours would even be there. All I said was that they’re the only beasts on Beast Island that fly. I never said they would be anywhere near the prison. The beasts are supposed to keep to the jungle. We probably won’t even see any of the Beat Island beasts at all. Okay?”

Bow and Swift Wind exchanged a glance. They had become genre savvy enough by this point to know that, now that one of them said it out loud, not only would they encounter a Beast Island beast, they would probably encounter the Great Beast itself. 

“Don’t made that face!” Adora snapped. 

“We weren’t looking at you.” Swift Wind informed her. 

“I know.” She snapped. “I know what you were saying to each other.”

Both Bow and Swift Wind opened their mouths to reply. But before another word could escape either of them, they were cut off by the other member of their party. 

“Ah, ha!” Dak exclaimed triumphantly. The hybrid had found a seam in the skin covering Imp’s head. A line concealed behind a pointed ear, and running up to the tuft of hair on the deamon’s head. Hooking their talons in the seam, Dak managed to peel the android’s face off, revealing the circuitry and workings underneath. 

Swift Wind, Adora, and Bow all forgot their conversation in the wake of such… mechanical gore?

“I’m still listening.” Dak informed them, still not looking up from Imp. “Keep going. We probably won’t see the Beast Island beasts.”

All three of them just stood there, staring, wide-eyed, gap-mouthed, at this child that looked no older than ten years peel the face and hair off of what had previously looked like a nightmare toddler. 

Holding Imp’s naked robotic head in their hands, the hybrid used their hair to reach into their tool bag. Pulling out thin and delicate instruments for small detail work on sensitive pieces of tech. 

If the others asked what Dak was doing, the hybrid would not be able to tell them. They didn’t have the words to describe that they were concerned they might have knocked something loose or broken some vital inner component when they hit the deamon. They could not name the parts they were trying to repair, or the tools they were using. But that didn’t mean they didn’t know what they were doing. After spending all their free time in the Locked Room after it was opened, Dak had developed an almost instinctual understanding of robotics and machines. Tech ‘spoke’ to them in a way that could not be explained to others. 

Bow was the first to recover from the shock of watching –what he always thought was Hordak’s pet, or baby, or both- get its face peeled off. He knelt next to Dak, always eager to learn something that could improve his own knowledge and understanding of tech. “Can I help.”

One of the tools held in Dak’s hair pressed against something and one of the deamon’s ears slid out, revealing memory boards that looked like they hadn’t been part of the android’s original design. Like they were extra data storage added at a later date after Imp’s construction. 

“Hold his head for me.” Dak passed the android to the archer. They laid down on their belly to be on an even level with the now open head and its extra memory boards. 

It looked like Dak’s hit did indeed knock something loose. The connectors that kept the extra memory plugged into the rest of the processing array had come apart. Dak reached in a couple thin tendrils of hair. Literally, hair thin. They reattached the connections and slid the extra memory boards back into the place. Picked up one of those tiny and delicate tools and, with the deftness of a surgeon, soldered them into place so that –barring another trauma- they would not get knocked loose again. 

The moment they were in place, Imp’s mouth opened and a recording began to play. The voice sounded like Hordak’s. Like Hordak’s, but no quite Hordak’s. Like Hordak if he were more… tired? Regretful? …Remorseful? Those were certainly emotions none of them could imagine the original Hordak feeling, never mind allowing to seem into his voice when he knew he was being recorded. 

“If you’re hearing this, Zero-Zero-Three, then I’ve gone to join the All High Host.” Said the voice that was almost a clone of Hordak’s voice. “I always knew it was a dangerous game I was playing, and if you’re sitting in my cabinet seat right now, then it’s a game you’re going to have to learn to play well. You’re a slow learning, Zero-Zero-Three, but you do learn. Learn quickly, because in this game you either win –or you die. I like to think I played it very well for many years. Clearly, I did not win-“

The recording cut off abruptly when Dak slid Imp’s ear back into the place. 

“Wait, I wanted to hear that.” Bow blinked at the abrupt cut off. “I didn’t think the Horde played games.”

“Training games.” Both Dak and Adora supplied in almost perfect unison. 

The hybrid turned their head to look at her. Their eyes meeting and a weird kind of understanding passed between them. 

Adora had been raised in the Horde. They did not play games for fun. They trained. They spared, had skirmishes, held mock battles. There was a points system, or one hit matches. They were war games. Battle games. Training games. But they were not games for fun and leisure. 

Dak did not grow up in the Horde. At least, not in the same way that Adora had. There was a Horde presence in their home, in the very castle they grew up in. But the Horde was not in control of Dak’s training. Dak was trained by Imp. Trained in stealth. In moving unseen. In tracking something that was trying to evade you. In catching quarry. Hunting games. At first, they had been fun games… until the hybrid developed other interests. 

Imp’s eyes flickered for half a moment and Dak rolled the skin back over his face. Pulling the back half of skin-shell back up by the tuft of nylon-fiber hair. Dak was just making sure the seam in the skin was securely resealed when the flickering of the deamon’s eyes finally solidified into his normal golden-yellow glow. 

Imp gave a screech of distress at finding himself in a completely different place from where he was when falling asleep. He leapt into the air, flapping on frantic wings. Flitting from one direction to the other, trying to get his bearings on where they were. 

“Calm down.” Dak pleaded with the creature. 

All that succeeded in doing was turning Imp’s distress on themself. The little deamon swooped down to snarl and chitter in the hybrid’s face. Shrieking, and squawking, sounding like a pack of angry monkeys rather than the one, singular, flying goblin he was. 

What was master’s heir thinking? Aligning themself with the traitor and her companions! Imp was beside himself with frustration, and he let master’s heir know it. 

“Wow.” Commented Swift Wind. “You kiss Hordak’s boots with that mouth.”

Turning away from the angry deamon, Dak blinked confused eyes at the horde. “I’m Hordak.”

“Other Hordak, little foal.” The stallion clarified. 

By opening his mouth, Swift Wind effectively drew the deamon’s attention to him and before he knew it, the winged horde was getting his own face-full of angry screeching goblin baby. Squawking and chittering, growling and snarling. Making very animalistic sounds that the humans –and human hybrid- of their party couldn’t understand. But Swift Wind –the actual animal of their group- understood perfectly. He snorted, shooting a jet of warm air at the flapping deamon, unimpressed. “That’s exactly the kind of thing I’d expect from the minion of a despotic colonizer!”

Imp blinked at having a creature actually understand him for once. Most organic being just assumed his attempts to communicate were noise. He recovered quickly, and launched into another chittering and squawking rant. 

“Oh, yeah? How’s that working out for ya so far?” The stallion gave an odd little shrug of his wings, as if the deamon was completely inconsequential. 

Tendrils of hair wrapped themselves around Imp and before he knew what was happening, the little deamon was plucked out of the air and hugged tightly against Dak’s torso. “Imp, calm down.” The child pleaded. “We’re going to rescue mother.” 

The android gave another squawk of protest. 

“He doesn’t want you to rescue the Princess.” Swift Wind translated for everyone. “He wants you to assume control of the Horde and finish conquering Etheria.”

“Don’t want to.” Dak shook thier head. The hybrid looked down to address the struggling deamon in their arms when they repeated. “Don’t want to.”

Imp chittered out something quickly, almost frantically.

Everyone looked back up at Swift Wind for a translation, since his animal mind with a human intelligence somehow understood the alien android’s feral-sounding ‘language’. 

“He says you’ll need the army.” Explained the stallion, looking confused. “…if the emperor opens the portal from his side?”

“The portal!” Now the deamon had Adora’s full and undivided attention. “But I closed the portal.” 

She closed the portal. Saved the world from being un-made. Restored things to the way they were before the portal was opened. None of the Horde from the other side got through. That should have been the end of it. It was closed. She closed it. It was over. Done with. 

Except, when was anything ever that simple? 

Adora looked out across the ocean. Somewhere, on an island beyond those blue waves was the woman who built that portal in the first place. If it was possible for someone to open a portal from the other side, she would know. 

Now, more than before, Adora needed to rescue Entrapta. 

…


	14. A Good Soldier

True to her word, Catra ordered two of her henchmen to babysit Hordak and keep him on task. They followed him when he went to the galley to retrieve more ration packets. They lurked in the doorway when he took off his exo-suit in the infirmary. 

A reptilian and a satyr. 

They were afraid of Hordak at first. All of the gang from the Crimson Waste was. Hordak was less of a person and more of a cryptid to them. A living shadow with glowing eyes that lurked within the bowels of the crashed ship. New-Kyle and Four-Arms said that he was something Boss Catra brought with her back from the Fright Zone. But to spite this very clear origin story, the rest of the gang still spread wild tales that he was a monster that had dwelled in the crashed ship for centuries –people did believe the ship was haunted, after all. That he was woken from his slumber by Huntara and She-Ra, and hungered for fresh blood and living flesh. 

But after watching Hordak for the past couple of days, the pair decided maybe he wasn’t an immortal revenant from the bowels of a crashed vessel. 

He did not crave living flesh or fresh blood. The only thing they ever saw the creature eat was the brown goop that came out of foil wrapped ration packets he found in the galley. On the off chance that he did eat fresh meat, he complained about the flavor, and remarked loudly that ‘naturally formed’ beings were obsessed with seasoning at the expense of nutrition. 

He was not nearly as intimidating out of the shadows, in the light of the sickbay. He was not a living shadow. In fact, without that armor on, he was very thin. Far too thin for his height. Almost skeletal. With portions of flesh and matter all together missing from his forearms. 

By the third day, Hordak’s two guards couldn’t believe they had ever been afraid of him to begin with. By the third day, Hordak’s guards had become comfortable enough with their charge to become bored with their task. 

“I am Mara, She-Ra of Etheria, and I am gone.”

The reptile guard groaned loudly, frustrated and annoyed. “Gawd! Can’t you shut her up?”

From his position under the bridge console, Hordak gave a growl of frustration. The sound rumbling up from the back of his throat. It used to be such a sound would terrify any Etherian who heard it. It was dark and rolling, like distant thunder warning an approaching storm. Since being defeated by the Princesses and taken by Catra into the Crimson Waste, the sound had diminished in effect until all it earned him from the pair of Etherians in the room was an impatient glance. 

“I feel like if turning her off was something he could do, he would have done it by now.” Suggested the satyr. “I mean, if she’s just starting to irritate us just imagine how irritated Tall-Dark-and-Creepy must be.”

Hordak let out another growl of frustration. He missed the days when the ignorant natives of this backwater rock feared him enough to respect him –at least while in his presence. He knew his soldiers back in the Fright Zone must have said all manner of things behind his back. Scuttlebutt was a staple of military life. But none would ever have had the gall to talk about him as if he weren’t in the room when he was very much present and in a position to hear. He did not appreciate being referred to as ‘Tall-Dark-and-Creepy’. His name was ‘Hordak’. It was the name he chose for himself upon his promotion to the Emperor’s cabinet. It was a name blessed by Prime himself when he was elevated to the highest position a clone could hold. It wasn’t just a name, it was an acknowledgment of his skills, all his hard work, of his… value to the Empire. To call him by anything else was an insult!

“If either of you sandworms think you can perform this task better than I, I’ll welcome you to try.” He snapped, not bothering to slide out from under the console. Hordak already knew they couldn’t. Prior to a few weeks ago, the denizens of this desert thought the hologram’s recorded voice were the whispers of ghosts. 

There was a beat of silence in which the satyr and the reptilian just glanced at one another. They knew the were ill-suited to mechanical work just as well as Tall-Dark-and-Creepy did. 

“Just make sure you are performing that task.” The reptilian reminded him. He was a little unsure of what the task was –exactly- he just knew it had something to do with repairing the ship’s main bridge computer so that Boss Catra could hear an old recording. “Otherwise it’ll be all three of us that get in trouble if Boss Catra gets mad.”

“Had my eyes but tear-ducts, I would weep for you.” Hordak scoffed, unmoved. What did he care if his guards shared the catwoman’s ire? He never wanted them hanging around him in the first place. He wanted to be left alone to tinker at his task and wallow in feelings he didn’t quite know names for. 

“Hey, man, we’re just doing what we were told!” Snapped the reptilian. “I don’t see why we should get in trouble for following orders when you’re the dead-weight that can’t seem to get this act together.”

“That is because you lack discipline.” Hordak informed him. None of his brothers would ever have an attitude like that. If you were a guard, and you allowed your charge to disobey or not perform a task they were given, then you were not doing your job. It was as simple as that. If you were a Territory Captain, and your planet rebelled, then you were not doing your job. 

A good soldier did his job. 

A good soldier followed orders. 

…

“Do you know how to hold a planet, Zero-Zero-Three?” Hode asked.

The older clone insisted on taking a shuttle down from the Vinyl Hood to the planet’s surface. Lord Hode always liked to tour the planets whenever he was away from Capitol Core. He had a keen interest in the diversity of the universe, something that couldn’t be found among the Horde where everyone looked identical to himself, thought identical to himself, believed the same dogma, held the same values. Hode said such things became monotonous and boring. Stagnant. Unmoving. 

The clones of Horde Prime had no far-reaching histories, no legendary heroes or god-like idols –save for Horde Prime himself. The clones of Horde Prime had no past. Most of them, didn’t even have concepts for a ‘future’. Only one, single, unifying present. As a race, and as a culture, they were not going anywhere. They were not moving towards anything. They were fixed. Stuck. 

Aliens were not like that. 

Aliens had histories reaching back as far as there was intelligent life on their planets. Aliens had legends and heroes. Myths, and monsters. Stories, and illustrations, music, and dances, poetry, sculpture, fashion, architecture. Art. Aliens had art. And Hode was obsessed with it. 

They walked down the wet and bloody street. The bodies had been cleared away, but puddles of blood still gathered and congealed in the gutters or on the sidewalks. The avenue stank of urine and feces, all beings voided their bowels and bladders when they died. Clearing away the bodies did not clear away the smell. In the heat of the day, the stench of blood mingled with piss and shit hung in the air, rank and thick. Zero-Zero-Three fought the impulse to cover his nasal cavity with a hand. In the heat and rush of a battle, the smell of blood and shit was exhilarating. The scent of prey. After the battle, when a soldier has stepped back from the killing edge, when they were just a normal clone again, the odor was foul and offensive. 

Reaching the courtyard outside the capital building Hode stopped them, looking at the sculpture in the center of a bloody fountain. 

“What do you suppose this is supposed to be, Zeor-Zero-Three?” Asked the older clone, eyes focused on the carved marble and not looking at his Force Captain. 

Zero-Zero-Three glanced at his Lord. Really, he wanted to stop and examine a hunk of rock that was shaped into… “I believe it is meant to be a group of their own kind, my Lord.”

Indeed, that was what the statue looked like. Two full sized alien natives with their tentacles for arms and multiple legs. Raised, almost bubble-like ocular organs. Oral orifices stretched wide in what he assumed were supposed to be expressions of enjoyment for their kind. Below the two full-sized aliens were a group of smaller ones, their bodies not as proportional as the larger figures, their limbs shorter and thicker. Almost like how immature clones looked before they reached full maturity and were allowed out of the tank. Child aliens. 

“Clearly.” Nodded Hode, not exactly annoyed with his subordinate’s superficial and obvious view of the statue. Of course, it was a group of their own kind. Species rarely put up statues of creatures not themselves outside their central governing buildings. “But what genre of group? A mating pair and their offspring.”

Clapping his arms behind his back, Zero-Zero-Three relaxed into a parade rest. Lord Hode could take hours when ‘appreciating’ aliens’ art. The Force Captain settled in for a great deal of standing, staring at nothing important, and being asked for opinions on a thing he had no opinions of. 

“This would imply that they’re a binary species.” Hode continued. 

“Binary, my Lord?” Like, ones and zeroes? Like the coding he used when reprograming his personal datapad and console? 

“Yes, binary.” Repeated the Lord as if this explained things. “A species divided into two different sexes.”

“What would be the purpose of that?” Zero-Zero-Three found himself asking before he realized that he really didn’t care. A single species being divided sounded… problematic to him. The Horde did not have divisions –apart from those of military rank, obviously. All Horde were made the same and hatched the same. The divisions came later, after individuals were given opportunities to distinguish themselves from their brothers. When they performed well on missions, in combat, serving their superior officers. And there were levels to these divisions. Clone trooper, sub-Commander, Territory Captain, Force Captain, and Lord. There was no one-or-the-other. 

“For procreation.” Hode elaborated. “Races that do not have our cloning technology must procreate by natural means, male and female combining to create a new being. Some species the mating pair only comes together for that explicit purpose and then separates soon after.” He turned his attention back to the statue. “This depiction seems to imply that these creatures do not separate after mating and raise their offspring together as a single unit. The fact that they’ve placed this statue outside their central governing building implies that their offspring and the family unit are a central object in their society.”

Zero-Zero-Three looked back at the statue again. The adults –the parents- attention focused on the younger ones –their children. “No wonder we defeated them so easily.” He scoffed. “If they waste their time with these smiling younglings instead of developing their military. One has to wonder how they managed to overthrow Captain Eight-Two-Seven at all.” 

Hode glanced at him, a little surprised. “Have you never had to fight a creature defending its offspring before, Zero-Zero-Three?”

“Not that I’ve been aware of.” The younger clone shook his head. 

The older clone looked legitimately surprised by that. “Parent organisms are particularly formidable when protecting their offspring. They become irrationally vicious. Societies that place a central emphasis on their offspring and the family unit are easy to conquer, but more difficult to hold.”

“Are you excusing Captain Eight-Two-Seven, my Lord?” Asked Zero-Zero-Three. Should he not have killed the other clone? He thought his Lord’s intensions were very clear. The Territory Captain couldn’t do his job, he served no purpose, he had to be discarded. 

“No.” Hode assured the younger man. “Merely commenting that he did not understand the natives of the planet he was assigned to hold. Let’s go inside, Zero-Zero-Three.”

Obediently, the Force Captain lead his Lord into the building. There were still guards posted at the entrance, and the main lift. The blood that had been fresh earlier was thick and congealed now, covering the lobby in a dark green goo that squished under their boots and made uncomfortable suction sounds when they lifted their feet. 

One of the clone troopers set as guard pressed the button to summon the elevator for their Lord and their Force Captain, then double checked to make sure the lift cabin was empty before the Lord and officer stepped inside. The building had already been emptied of alien natives, there shouldn’t be anyone in the lifts except for Horde clones. But Zero-Zero-Three demanded vigilance and diligence from his subordinates, and that was what they gave him. No one wanted to be the idiot who let their superior officer, or their Lord get assassinated after the battle had already been won. 

Zero-Zero-Three pressed the button for the floor that held the governor’s office. 

Every other window on the floor was pained in stained glass. Each one showing a different scene.

Lord Hode insisted on stopping at every one. 

Every. One. 

Right out the lift, was a stained glass window flanked on either side by two indoor plants –all of them splattered with dry green blood. Hode ripped a couple of leaves off the plants and used them to wipe the window clean. Then stood back to study the full picture. 

The lead of the pains cut bold dark lines through the whole image, drawing even more contrast between the vibrant colors. Primary yellows, jewel-tone blues, deep crimson reds, violets, emerald hues, and energetic oranges. This one showed one of the aliens seated on what might have been the wall of a primitive castle or fortress of some kind. A sword lay on the wall next to them, but the subject’s back was to it. In the alien’s tentacles were instead a branch and a chalice.

“I suppose this one is meant to tell us these creatures prefer eating leaves and getting drunk, while neglecting warrior training.” Zero-Zero-Three announced his best guess at an interpretation before his Lord could ask. Because Hode always asked. The older clone seemed determined to make everyone else who worked under him think about art as much as he did. 

Hode gave a small but nasal snort. He found the Force Captain’s interpretation amusing. “Possibly. Art is always open to the meaning of the beholder. But, I have found in many cultures, that plants have symbolic meanings beyond the physical and tangible. The branch could be an offering of peace on this world. The book, a symbol for knowledge –or the sharing of knowledge since the written word is how information is passed. The presence of a discarded weapon could indicate that these creatures believe violence should be set aside in favor of communication and peaceful exchange.”

“Pathetic.” Grumbled the younger clone. No wonder his troops defeated them so easily. It was a wonder they managed to take back their planet at all. 

At each and every window, Zero-Zero-Three gave his interpretation. If he became tired of the art and remained silent, his Lord would ask for it. Then disagree with it. Lord Hode disagreed with each and every one of Zero-Zero-Three’s interpretations of the images they were examining. He looked at them through the eyes of a Horde clone. Read the colors, and subjects, and objects as a soldier would read them. He did not try and think why an alien might feel it important to depict that specific thing in that specific way. 

One featured one of the natives, holding a sword in every tentacle, facing off some kind of large creature rising up out of the ocean. It was the first image Zero-Zero-Three saw of one of the natives that he felt appropriate applying the word ‘warrior’ to. Any being that looked willing and ready to take down a monster four times its size was no pathetic pacifist. 

“You see, Zero-Zero-Three, no culture is without its heroes and its legends.” Hode’s tone was almost joking when he followed that stament up with, “Almost makes you wonder why we don’t have any.”

“My Lord?”

But the older clone did not elaborate. 

Then they came to the broken windows. The ones Zero-Zero-Three and his troopers burse through when they infiltrated the building from the roof next door. 

“A pity.” Hode lamented. The broken ones were the only windows the Lord did not pause to study. 

Finally, they reached the governor’s office. 

The carpet was still thick with the aliens’ blood and it squished loudly with every step they took, still wet fluid oozing up from under the mostly-dry top layer of green. 

Ignoring the sound his boots made, Hode strode through the office, taking note of the frames on the walls. The art in here was strikingly different from the stained glass in the corridor, or the statue in the courtyard. Those were clearly definable as depictions of the aliens themselves. Family units, or figures from their histories or their folktales. But the paintings in the office were more abstract. Fewer colors, cooler colors, and simpler lines. Some even nothing more than geometric shapes.

Hode looked back at his subordinate. 

“I don’t know, my Lord.” Admitted the Force Captain before the older clone could ask. “My abilities stop at the identifiable.”

“Simpler art is less distracting in a work environment.” The Lord explained. “The less complicated décor allows the mind to focus on tasks, and the cooler colors –blues, grays, and greens- stimulate more efficient thought. Much more appropriate for a governor’s office than the loud and heavily contrasted stained glass outside wouldn’t you say.”

That was not a question. 

“Why even have art at all?” That was a question. Zero-Zero-Three did not understand its importance. It was impractical, probably time consuming to create, and did nothing but sit around taking up space. In his mind, art served no purpose. It should be discarded. 

“In a clerical office setting like this, art would make them feel less pinned in.” Hode sounded very patient with his Force Captain. The kind of patience that seemed into his voice when he was losing patience. Sometimes the other clones’ lack of interest in the things that interested him were frustrating. To have such a keen interest in a subject, but have no one with which to share that interest with. Hode was quite possibly the oldest clone still living, and yet in all his years he had found no other Horde soldier he could call kindred. 

Leaving the paintings on the walls, Hode strode to the desk and Zero-Zero-Three dared to hope that the Lord might actually begin the work of selecting a new Territory Captain so that they could get the heck off this Host forsaken rock and get back to the main fleet in Capital Core. The cloning crèches were in Capital Core, and they held the best medical technology in the known universe. Horde Prime reserved nothing but the best for his clones. Zero-Zero-Three felt more at ease knowing such resources were close at hand. His condition required him to be hyper-aware of his medical needs. 

Hode did not sit down at the desk or boot up the terminal. Instead, he picked up a frame on the desk that had been knocked over during the battle. The image on it was blissfully free of green blood spatter. Hode held it up for his Force Captain to see. 

“What do you make of this, Zero-Zero-Three?”

It looked like a simple piece of paper. Mass produced and of poor quality. Scribbled on the paper in a medium that looked like it might have been sticks of soft wax –like crayons- were messy stick figures. At least, Zero-Zero-Three assumed they were figures. One, drawn in green crayon appeared to have the four legs and tentacles for arms that the natives had. They were holding a sideways L-shaped line in one tentacle that may or may not be a representation of a burst pistol, and it was pointed at a tall and skinny figure rendered in black crayon. Two arms, two legs, a single line for a body, triangles added to the sides of the head that might have been pointed ears, and red wings framing the center line of the body. Even in the primitive and simplistic rendering, Zero-Zero-Three recognized the image of a clone trooper. 

The younger man scoffed. “A crude representation of their victory over Eight-Two-Seven.”

“I child’s representation.” Hode corrected. “Probably the leader’s child, since they kept the drawing here on this desk.”

“Pathetic.” Zero-Zero-Three muttered with distain. 

Hode made a non-committal noise and placed the frame back on the desk, standing upright. “Judging by the drawing, the child is probably very young. Too young to have participated in the battle. But children have a tendency to grow up, and the child of a rebel leader usually grows up to become a rebel leader themselves.” The older clone informed him. “You will need to find this child and kill them before that happens.” 

“My Lord?” Asked Zero-Zero-Three, confused by the order. How could he search this planet for one small child from his Lord’s side all the way back in Capital Core? That didn’t make sense. 

“You know, you never answered my question, Zero-Zero-Three.” Said the older clone by way of explanation. “Do you know how to hold a planet?”

A small stone of dread sank into the younger clone’s stomach and Zero-Zero-Three fought the urge to swallow the nerves that suddenly welled up in his throat. “That is a Territory Captain’s job, my Lord. A Force Captain’s job is to lead the troops and command the military in his Lord’s name.”

“You are a clone of our great Emperor, Horde Prime, and your job is to do what you’re told.” Hode reminded him. The words coming out in a snap that neither of them were going to call ‘frustration’. “And I am telling you to remain here and hold this planet for our Emperor.”

That was a demotion. Territory Captain was a rank below Force Captain. 

“My Lord, have I displeased you in some way?” Demanded Zero-Zero-Three, desperate to understand why his Lord –whom he had tried to serve diligently and attentively- was basically banishing him to a nothing of a planet far from the capitol. Half way to Old Revena, the original Horde World. 

“My pleasure was immaterial in this decision.” Hode assured him. “I am simply placing the best person I know of in a strategic position.”

“What strategy is there in demoting me to a planet sitter!?” Snarled the younger clone, more of his anger seeping into his voice than he meant. He heard it in his tone, and his volume and regretted it immediately. One did not last long by questioning their Lord and talking back. Zero-Zero-Three instantly demurred. Bowing low to the older clone. “Forgive me, my Lord, but this is very sudden and I don’t understand why.”

Was it- was it because of his defects…? 

Hode pulled out the chair from the desk. A wide, flat base meant for creatures with more than just two legs. It had a tall back, but no armrests. “Sit down, Zero-Zero-Three.”

He did as he was told. Sitting awkwardly. His narrow posterior barely taking up any space in the over-wide alien chair. It made the younger clone feel small. Less, somehow. 

Hode didn’t so much sit on the desk as he did lean against it, his arms crossed over his chest. “Whom do you serve?”

“The Empire.” He supplied as if this should have been obvious. 

“What is the Empire?” Pressed the older clone, as if the original answer was not an answer at all. 

“The Horde Empire.” Zero-Zero-Three corrected. Then paused. Remembering all their conversations about art. ‘What do you suppose this is supposed to be?’ What was the Horde Empire? Really? A collection of genetically identical soldiers, willing to lay down their lives for their Brother. The greatest technological military the universe has ever seen, all at the command of their Brother. A sweeping force of nature that conquered everything it touched in the name of their Brother. Their Brother. At the center of it all was Horde Prime. Emperor of the Known Universe. The heart of the Empire. He was the Empire. “Horde Prime, our Big Brother is the Empire. I serve Horde Prime.”

It was hard to see Hode’s expression from under his hood, but by the folds of the fabric, it looked like the older clone’s ears drooped just a little bit. Was he displeased by Zero-Zero-Three’s answer? Could Zero-Zero-Three do nothing right?

“That is the correct answer.” Hode announced. There was no displeasure in his voice. Perhaps the ear-droop was imagined. It was hard to tell with that hood up. “You will continue to serve our Emperor and Brother from here. By holding this world for him and making sure it does not fall back out of our hands.”

Now it was Zero-Zero-Three’s turn for his ears to droop. 

“Don’t look so sad, Zero-Zero-Three.” Hode reached out and grabbed his chin, forcing the younger man’s face up to look at him. The red glow of his eyes the only thing illuminating the inside of his hood. It made Hode’s expression impossible to read. “You are a slow learner, but you do learn. Preform your duties here well, and you just might find yourself elevated above a Force Captain.”

Zero-Zero-Three’s eyes went wide, disbelieving. Then narrowed again with skepticism. “But the only rank above a Force Captain is a cabinet Lord.” Hode’s position. “For me to be promoted, you would have to die.”

“All clones must die.” Hode reminded him. “And all clones must serve.” A pause. “Have you never dreamed of climbing to the cabinet, Zero-Zero-Three?”

Pulling his face out of the older man’s hand, the younger clone looked down and away. He did not want to meet his Lord’s eyes when he admitted. “I never thought I’d live that long.”

Because of his defects…

“Remind me again, Zero-Zero-Three, what is your batch number?” Hode commanded. 

“Sixty-six thousand six-hundred and ninety-four, my Lord.” He supplied dutifully. “From crèche number forty-two, tank number three.” 

66694-42-003

“Sixty-six thousand six-hundred and ninety-four.” Repeated the older man. “You never expected to live this long, yet here you are eleven years old and still preforming admirably.”

Zero-Zero-Three flushed at the complement, the skin of his cheeks and ears coloring a vivid purple. 

“Who’s to say what will happen to you before your number is called up and you go to join the All High Host? Preform your duties well and your superiors will take note of you.” Hode reminded him. “You were a sub-Commander serving under me for less than a year when I took note of you.”

The younger man flushed again. “I was so sure you were going to kill me, my Lord.” He admitted. “In hind sight, you should have killed me. I questioned you in front of the other Captains.”

“You did not question me, Zero-Zero-Three, you asked a question. There is a difference. A very significant one.” Hode was very firm in that reminder. “And it was that act that drew you to my attention. Allowed me to see that you were not just a mindless drone like so many of our other brothers.” 

His ears drooped more at the reminder that he was not like the rest of their brothers. He was different. Atypical. Anomalous. “Perhaps that was my… defects manifesting early.”

“Perhaps.” Hode admitted and Zero-Zero-Three was not prepared for how such an easy agreement –without hesitation- that his defects might have been influencing him even back then. “That does not change the fact that you’re different. Ears up, Zero-Zero-Three, that is not an insult. It is a statement of fact. Of every other sub-Commander and Force Captain in that room, you were the only one who though to ask me ‘why’. That struck a chord with me.”

“Actually, I asked what the relevance was, my Lord.” Corrected the younger man without thinking. One did not usually correct a cabinet Lord of they wanted to remain happy, healthy, and alive. Zero-Zero-Three looked up into his Lord’s darkened hood, concerned that he might have just insulted his superior. But, as was usual, Hode’s expression was unreadable. Zero-Zero-Three looked away again. “Why are we speaking about our first meeting.”

“Because I’m old and I like to reminisce.” The other clone scoffed, as if this answer should have been obvious. 

He stood from the desk, scooping the child’s drawing back up as he did so. He opened up the back of the frame and pulled out the paper, folded it and slipped it into a pouch of his belt. Another piece for Lord Hode’s always growing art collection. The old man did not offer an explanation and Zero-Zero-Three did not comment. Hode always took at least one –sometimes more than one- cultural artifact from every planet he visited. It was at the point now that an entire deck of the Vinyl Hood was devoted to the Lord’s art collection. 

Cultural clutter. 

Zero-Zero-Three did not stand. His Lord had not given him leave to. 

But he did look back up at the older clone. Crimson eyes pleading, ears drooping so low they were almost brushing his shoulders. “Are you really leaving me here, my Lord?” He asked, sounding very much like a freshly hatched cadet in that moment. Like a hatchling being pushed out of the crèche. “I thought you said it would be inconvenient for you if you lost me?”

“I said it would be inconvenient if you died.” Hode corrected the younger clone. “So, don’t die. I will be very annoyed if you do.”

He moved to leave. 

Zero-Zero-Three catapulted to his feet. He opened his mouth to shout at his Lord’s back, then realized he had no idea what he wanted to say. 

“I do not know how to hold a planet!” He blurted out. Three times Lord Hode asked him if he knew how to hold a planet and each time Zero-Zero-Three avoided answering. Because he didn’t know how. Because he was a Force Captain, not a Territory Captain. It was not a Force Captain’s job to hold a planet, it was a Territory Captain’s job. 

Hode looked back at him, the turn of his neck pulling on the fabric of his hood so that Zero-Zero-Three could see the lower half of his face. A square chin identical of his own, and thin lips pulled back in a humorless grin, displaying crimson teeth. “Then learn. You are a slow learner, Zero-Zero-Three, but you do learn.”

The younger clone chewed on the inside of his cheek. He wanted to try and convince his Lord not to demote him like this. To find someone else to stay and planet sit, so that he could remain at his Lord’s side. 

“Learn about art, Zero-Zero-Three.” His Lord suggested. “When you understand a species' art, you understand that species. And if you understand a species, you can control them. It is always easier to hold a planet when the native population is under your control.”

Zero-Zero-Three looked to the side, his eyes finding an abstract painting on the wall. A background of pale cream swirls, behind a series of unevenly spaced cubes in hues of teal, and shaded in umber. He had no idea what it was supposed to be. The Horde did not make art. The clone troopers of the Imperial Horde spent their spare time on more practical hobbies. 

“Alter your uniform to hide how thin you’ve become.” Hode reminded him. “And be sure to eat plenty of protein. Do not allow yourself to become any thinner.”

“You’re really leaving me here?” Why did Zero-Zero-Three feel like he was being abandoned? His Lord had given him a task, he should carry it out without question. 

“Yes, Zero-Zero-Three. I am.” Hode exited the office. 

Zero-Zero-Three slumped back into the alien chair that was too big for his tall but narrow body. He put his head in his hands. He was given a task. A new mission. He had his orders. He might not like them. They might have come with a demotion. But Zero-Zero-Three would preform his task as best he could. 

He was a soldier, and a good soldier followed orders. 

…


	15. Call of the Great Beast

“Obviously, I cannot be empirical without analyzing the data, but I’d say this is a better cell than the compound.” Entrapta admitted. 

After hearing the story of how the Princess was in the Horde prison for less than two weeks before she managed to just let herself out of her cell, free Micah, and then together the two of them thwarted all the guards attempts to subdue them, and escaped into the jungle, J’Milla and his brother Korg decided the pair must be Horde spies. No one escaped the compound. Certainly, never as easily as they described Entrapta escaping. The only conclusion was that the Horde let them go. If not as knowing spies, then as a trap. 

Both Entrapta and Micah were confined to a holding pen to wait for the village to put to a vote what to do with them. A wooden cage, setup outside, both vertical and horizontal bars, cross-hatched and held together with cords made from sinew. The door did not actually have a lock. It was just tied shut with rope. But there were two warriors posted by it to guard the prisoners and make sure they did not try to escape. 

“At least in this prison there’s decent airflow and no bad smells.” Entrapta smiled. As far as she was concerned, their situation had improved. 

“Until one of us has to go to the bathroom?” Micah pointed out, positive that the Princess had not thought that assessment through. 

Entrapta’s face fell. “I’ll get back to you on that.” A pause. “Oh! Let’s just ask the guards! Excuse me! What happens when one of us has to empty our bowels or bladder?”

Micah’s face fell into the palm of his hand. That was not something one generally asked their captors about. That was generally something captors did not care about. Prisoner comfort was always a fairly low priority everywhere that Micah had ever been a prisoner. 

“Quiet! Both of you!” Snapped one of their guards. 

He was significantly younger than the rest of the warriors they’d seen. Entrapta was bad at guessing people’s ages, about as bad at guessing ages as she was at forming connections. She just didn’t ‘get’ people. But if she had to hazard a guess, based purely off physical development, the length of his femurs, the width of his shoulders, and relative roundness of his face, Entrapta would place the young-guard at around Frosta’s age. Maybe not exactly ‘eleven and three-quarters’ (essentially twelve), but somewhere around that age range. Between eleven and twelve. A bit young to be a warrior, but then, Frosta was the same age and she had been fighting the Horde for about a year now. 

“Tondy! Do not talk to the prisoners.” The second guard reprimanded him. 

“I was telling them to be quiet.” The boy argued indignantly. 

“You should not speak to them at all.” The older man informed him. “They are Horde spies. Do not interact.”

With a bit of a ‘hmph’ Entrapta settled back down on the dirt floor. 

Leaning against the cross-hatched bars of their wooden pin, both Entrapta and Micah sat back to watch the meeting. It was held outside so the whole village could attend and cast their vote on what to do with the ‘Horde spies’. 

They watched J’Milla step into the center of the ring of people and lift a horn to his lips. Obviously some kind of ceremonial instrument to either call a feeling of weight and importance to the matters at hand, or else just mark the begging of the meeting. Without knowing more about their culture, either guess was as good as any other. 

“My father gets to blow the Kodge Trumpet because he’s the best Beast Warrior in the village.” The child-guard, Tondy, explained without prompting. 

“They do not need to know that!” Snapped the other guard. 

J’Milla blew into the Kodge Trumpet and the sound that cut the air was not what either Entrapta nor Micah were expecting. It sounded very organic. Not like something produced by a woodwind, or hollowed out horn at all. More like something that might come from the throat of an animal. Deep in tumbler, but high in pitch. Almost like the kind of sound a very large creature with a wide windpipe might make if it were injured or afraid. J’Milla blew on the Kodge Trumpet three times, making their eardrums ring, before he lowered the instrument.

“We are called here today, to decide the fate of the Horde spies we found in the jungle.” He announced. “My brother, Korg, believes we should kill them. I thought returning them to the Horde compound would be more merciful. But the decision will affect the whole village. So, as is our way, we shall put the matter to a vote!”

“Why not just put them back in the jungle where you found them?” Called one person from the crowd.

“Feed them to the tyrosaurs!” Cried another. 

Since they seemed to just be throwing out ideas before the vote, Micah stood back up to shout a suggestion of his own. “You could just put us in a boat and send us out to sea!”

Entrapta glanced at him. 

“What?” He shrugged at her. 

He still wanted to get home to his wife and daughter. In order for him to do that, he had to get off the island. Even just sticking them in a canoe with no ores was better than be sent back to prison, killed outright, or fed to any of the Beast Island beasts. At the very least, he could use his magic to propel the canoe across the Growling Sea to more traveled waters and be picked up by a larger ship –or even make it all the way to the mainland if he really didn’t care about his own personal safety or the structural integrity of the canoe. 

Before anyone else could shout out another suggestion, or things could quiet down for a vote to take place, a roar was heard from the jungle. 

All eyes turned to see a massive, dinosaur-like monster, taller than the trees. Red scales, yellow eyes, two black horns where ears on a mammal might be, and a third horn on the end of the snout right between the nostrils of its nose. 

It came charging at the village, roaring with fury. 

The villagers scattered, the square being emptied of all but Beast Warriors. Korg appeared out of nowhere by J’Milla’s side, passing a spear to his brother. Their second guard moved to join them. 

“Stay and guard the prisoners.” He ordered Tondy. 

Micah gripped the wooden bars of the pin nervously, he really did not want to be in a cage if that thing came charging at them. It seemed the natives had no intentions of joining the Princess Alliance, he didn’t have to be extra nice and cooperative in the hopes of making new allies. They never bothered to bind his hands, he could use his magic. 

Drawing a sigil in the air, Micah blew the wooden pin gate open. 

“Hey! You can’t just-!” Tondy, their child-guard protested, but Micah was thoroughly unimpressed. He dashed right by Tondy as if the younger man wasn’t trying to block his path with a sharpened spear. 

“Oh, this is so exciting!” Entrapta bounced on her hair, tumbling out of the pin after her companion in less of a rush. “I’ve never seen the Beast Island Great Beast before! It really is something, isn’t it!”

Wrapping a thick lock of hair around Tondy, she pulled the boy closer to her and pointed along their eye-level at the Beast. “Note how there’s a mild glow when it opens its mouth to roar. Why is that, I wonder? Is it just some random bioluminescence? Is it something in its breath causing a chemical reaction with the air? Can the Great Beast breath fire? Or plasma? Or something else? This is fascinating!”

The way her hair was holding him, Tondy couldn’t turn his head, but his eyes shifted as far as they could go to get a better look at her. In all his eleven years, he had never seen anyone react to the Great Beast attacking with… glee. Horde spy or not, this woman was someone without fear and all the more dangerous for it. He tried to wriggle out of her hair. 

“Let me go!”

“Oh. Sure, sure.” And she did let go. Immediately. “I forget sometimes, not everyone is as excited by new discoveries as I am.”

Her hair let go of him so suddenly that Tondy fell to the ground, off balanced. He sat on his backside and looked up at her, and the scene of his father fighting the Great Beast behind her and had no idea what to think. This was all so much. He was still just a Beast Warrior-in-training. This felt like something that required a bit more skill and experience to deal with. He clutched his spear closer to him, hugging the shaft as if it were a favored stuffed toy. 

Micah would have been happy to take advantage of this opportunity and just escape. Entrapta clearly didn’t need his help, and he might not get another opportunity like this. His main goal was still to get back to Brightmoon, and back to Angella and baby-Glimmer –teenage-Glimmer, she wouldn’t be a baby anymore. But he also had a thing about kids looking scared. So, when he caught the image of Tondy out the corner of his eyes, sitting on the ground, hugging his weapon, and looking up at the Great Beast with a level of concern that could easily have been fear, the sorcerer doubled back. 

Sprinting into the center of the square, falling in line between J’Milla and Korg, he drew a sigil in the air. A large, complicated one. Then sent the ring of magic careering up into the face of the Great Beast. It passed through the creature, right between the eyes. 

The Great Beast paused in its attack. Blinked for a moment. 

Then just turned around and left. 

Then it was the Beast Warriors’ turn to blink. Both J’Milla and Korg staring at Micah as if they’d never seen anything like him before. “What did you do?”

The sorcerer only shrugged. As if it were no big deal. “I just cast a memory spell.” He explained. “I made the Beast forget why he was attacking the village in the first place.”

They just continued to stare. 

“The Great Beast has no reason.” Korg informed him. “It attacks because it is an animal and does not know any different.”

“That can’t be right.” Entrapta joined the group in the middle of the village square, Tondy trailing behind her as if determined to maintain the pretense of still being her guard. “Animals don’t do things for no reason. No organism does a thing for no reason. Animals are motivated by basic needs. Food, clean water, mating cycles, territorial instincts, etcetera. If the Great Beast attacks your village often, there must be a reason. If you can figure out that reason, you can stop it from attacking you.” A pause, because she spent so much time in the Horde where they tried to weaponized everything. “Or, send the Great Beast to attack your enemies!”

J’Milla and his son Tondy continued to look skeptical. As if the Princess were just talking nonsense. But Korg looked interested. He stepped closer to her. “Go on…”

“Well, let’s start eliminating variables.” Entrapta began. 

“Wait, we’re free again.” Micah reminded her. “Why don’t we just escape?” 

“Oh. Right.” Entrapta was about to nod, yeah, escaping was important. It had been so long since she was in Dryl and his did miss her home. But then the image of Hordak flashed through her mind, although she had no idea why the thought of ‘home’ also called to mind thoughts of him. She remembered Micah’s hypothesis that her lab partner might be dead, and she realized that that was a hypothesis she was not ready to test yet. She was not optimistic about the results. Beast Island certainly was not home, and it wasn’t sterile like a lab, and it didn’t offer the exact type of experimentation she favored. But it was still very interesting and full of new things to test and discover. So long as she stayed on Beast Island she didn’t have to face the rest of the world beyond the island. “But there’s still things to do here.”

Micah was about to protest. He wanted to go home, darn it! He missed his wife! He hadn’t seen his daughter since she was still in diapers! 

But then he looked at their child guard. Tondy. A boy not even in his teens yet Already warrior trained and holding a weapon. Was that just a normal thing in their culture, or was it because of the Horde occupation on the island? Was that just what happed to children under Horde occupied territories. Children didn’t get to be children. Children were forced to grow up too fast and become soldiers.

As a parent, Micah was against that. 

He heaved a sigh, resigned to help these people in whatever way he could. “Alright. Let’s figure out why the Great Beast attacks, so that we can sic it on the Horde –I assume that’s what you’re all planning.”

“There’s not need to jump to conclusions.” Entrapta informed him. 

While at the exact same time, Korg confirmed with a passionate, “Yes!”

“Oh.” Entrapta lowered her welding mask down over her face, feeling embarrassed. “Let’s start eliminating variables, then. When does the Great Beast usually attack?”

“Any time.” Said Korg.

“When most of the village is gathered together.” Said J’Milla. 

“Usually during our big gathering and important ceremonies.” Said Tondy. 

Micah crossed his arms over his chest in thought. “If the Great Beast attacks when you’re all gathered together, it could be like a predator going after a pack of prey.” He suggested. “The more of you there are in one place, the more likely it’ll be to get a couple of you.”

“How many people live in this village total?” Asked Entrapta.

Both J’Milla and Korg exchanged a look. It wasn’t like the Jungle Tribe ever took an official census. “Fifty, or so. Perhaps sixty.”

She looked back at Micah. “About how many guards do you think tried to stop us from escaping? Then add in people monitoring the security feeds, off duty personnel, non-combative staff, plus all the prisoners. How many people do you think are at the compound at any given time?”

“Probably over a hundred.” Micah had to admit. “The Great Beast can’t be attacking just because there’s a lot of you.”

Entrapta looked to Tondy. “You said important ceremonies.” She nodded to the boy. Sometimes, children saw things clearer than their adult counterparts. Sometimes Truth really did spring from the mouths of babes. “What do you do at these important ceremonies?”

Feeling put on the spot, the boy fidgeted under the attention. “Lots of things. Warrior ceremonies, and hand-fastings, and funerals, and the solstices, and to mark the end of years, and the turning of the moons.” He gave a shrug, hoping that that was enough. 

“Okay, but what do you do?” The Princess continued to press. She lifted her welding mask back up to meet the boy’s eyes. “The word ‘ceremony’ implies some kind of ritual. What kinds of activities are part of the ceremony? Like do you always burn a specific thing? Something that might put a smell into the air to attract it? Do you light lights of different colors or that might show in different spectrums that could attract it? These are the things we need to determine.” 

Tondy gave another shrug. “We blow the Kodge Trumpet.”

“Fascinating.” Entrapta did note earlier that the Kodge Trumpet sounded almost like an animal. 

J’Milla went to retrieve the Kodge Trumpet from where it had fallen in all the confusion and clutched it to his chest protectively. “I am still unconvinced they are not Horde spies.” He informed his brother and his son. “I will not allow them to touch one of our most ancient and sacred instruments.”

“Okay. Then don’t.” Entrapta told him. “Just blow it again. There’s only the five of us here right now. That isolates one variable for the experiment. If you blow the trumpet and the Great Beast comes back, then it’s the trumpet. If it doesn’t come back, then maybe it is all the people gathered together in one place.”

Hesitantly, skepticism radiating from his every motion, J’Milla raised the Kodge Trumpet to his lips and blew into it once. That same organic sound cutting the air. A deep sound, like a large animal, but with a high pitch like something that was injured and afraid. Did they really not notice that their sacred trumpet sounded like a wounded animal? 

J’Milla lowered the trumpet. 

When nothing happened immediately, he looked at Entrapta. Almost smugly. As if to say, ‘I told you so’. 

Then they heard an answering roar from the jungle and the same Great Beast came charging towards them. 

All three Beast Warriors had their spears in their hands and looked ready to right within a second of the animal coming at them. 

But Micah placed himself between the trio and the Great Beast, drawing the same sigil he did before. The sorcerer sent the same memory spell at the animal, and the Great Beast once again paused. Blinking. It turned around and stomped back into the jungle. 

He waited until the Beast was almost lost behind the trees before turning to face the others. He smiled at them. “Is the plan gonna be as simple as blow the horn at the prison?”

…

The plan was literally as simple as just sneaking up to the Horde prison and blowing the Kodge Trumpet from there. 

J’Milla and Korg lead them through the jungle, while Tondy kept an eye on Entrapta and Micah in case of a possible double cross. To spite the fact that they were now actively helping the Jungle Tribe fight the Evil Horde, they still did not trust the pair. 

They came to the outer wall that bordered the jungle. Almost to the very same door Entrapta and Micah escaped through. 

“Here?” J’Milla suggested, already raising the trumpet to his lips. 

“No, it should be from inside.” Entrapta suggested. “The whole building is like an amplifier, remember. It’ll boost the sound.”

“This better not be a trick to get us captured.” Korg warned. 

“We don’t wanna get capture either.” Micah promised him. “Entrapta, from here is fine. I’m sure we’re close enough to the building for it to work.”

With a shrug, she relented. Maybe he was right. They wouldn’t know until they tested his hypothesis after all. 

Raising the Kodge Trumpet to his lips, J’Milla blew it once. The sound that cut the air was deep in tumbler, but high in pitch. Almost like the kind of sound a very large creature with a wide windpipe might make if it were injured or afraid. 

They waited. 

A spotlight on the roof of the compound licked on and all five of them froze. Flattening their bodies against the wall, hoping not to be seen. They needn’t have bothered. The guard post on the roof was shining he light on the jungle and the tree line, not the building perimeter wall. 

“Well, someone heard it.” Korg commented dryly. 

“But did the Great Beast hear it?” Asked J’Milla. 

“Blow it again.” Micah suggested. 

“I am still unconvinced this is not some elaborate plot to capture me and leave the village unprotected.” He informed the other man. But his suspicions did not stop him from rising the instrument to his lips again and cutting another loud blow from it. 

This time, there was an answering call from the jungle. A loud and deep roar. The sound of an angry animal rushing to defend its territory. 

The Great Beast came running out of the jungle, almost charging right for their party. They barely had time to get out of the way before the animal rammed right into the compound wall. Dipping its nose down to scrape its center nose horn against the stone wall, as if it were trying to gore an enemy. 

They could hear guards shouting now. Calling profanities from the roof, while others came around the side of the building to attack the creature’s legs and try to chase it away from the building. 

Entrapta flattened herself against the wall close to the door she and Micah originally escaped through, when it opened and more guards poured out, she slipped in. Using her hair to swing over their heads. They didn’t even notice, all their attention was focused on the Great Beast. In the fading light of the setting Glow Moon, and the darkness of the jungle, they didn’t even notice that Micah and the Beast Warriors weren’t even Horde. They were just extra bodies between the Great Beast and the compound. 

Inside, Entrapta was finally able to explore the compound the way she wanted to during their escape but Micah wouldn’t let her. 

This time, when she ran into guards, they ignored her. Everyone was focused on getting to the exterior wall to repel the Beast attack. Entrapta slipped around corners, and down hallways, through bends where the corridor curved for no perceivable reason, ran up where the path randomly arced into a ramp, or down when it inexplicably sloped. There was really no rhyme or reason to the construction of this place. It was fascinating! 

On the second floor the walls dramatically changed. It was that same manufactured stone. Not metal paneling, or drywall. But up here there were markings on it. At first it started off as just radial lines. Long diagonal lines of low-slope angles. Then they intersected with other lines. Then more. 

Then, right when Entrapta came to the lifts, the intersecting lines coalesced into a First Ones sigil. Writing. First Ones writing. Here. In the Beast Island compound. That was why the place did not feel like standard Horde construction. Because it wasn’t! This wasn’t a Horde building. It was something they just found. Took for themselves. Repurposed without knowing what the original purpose was. 

Leaning close to the wall, Entrapta studied the First Ones sigil. She was by no means an expert in the language. She was mostly self-taught and made frequent mistakes, often misunderstood longer or more complicated words. But it looked like this sigil said ‘Main Lift’.

Inside the lift cabin, if there had been First Ones writing identifying the floors, it was covered over by the more conventional Etherian text. Written in a font common to the Fright Zone and posted in the Horde colors of black and red. They identified the lift buttons as B2, B1, G, 2, 3, and Command. Entrapta pushed Command. 

The lift opened up onto a narrow corridor and she stepped out directly in front of a sliding door with even more First Ones writing around it. This one very intricate and complicated. A level of intricate and complicated that bordered on ‘artistic mural’. The interlocking sigils coming together to almost form an illustration. 

A circle on either side of the door. One surrounded by multiple smaller circles, almost like moons orbiting a planet. In fact, it almost looked like Etheria. At least, it had as many circles surrounding it as Etheria had moos orbiting it. The circle –the planet?- on the opposite side had only two moons orbiting it. There was a familiar sigil next to it that Entrapta had seen multiple times across multiple and diverse First Ones artifacts. She never managed to decipher it herself, but according to Adora, the sigil was read as ‘Eternia’. Was Eternia a planet? All this time she just thought it was a password or a key phrase. 

Wrapping around both planets, was a single, unbroken line. Twisting in on itself right over the door. Almost like an infinity. Eternia and Etheria, intertwined. Two parts of a single whole. 

Except that Etheria was by itself here in Despondos. There was no other planet. There was no ‘Eternia’. They were alone in the void. 

Pressing the door release button, Entrapta strolled into Command room. 

One, lone, startled and concerned Horde soldier looked up from an array of security monitors. 

“Hi.” Entrapta smiled at her. “This place is really fascinating. How long has the Horde been occupying this building? Have you studied the First Ones writing in the corridors? Is there tech? Did you find any First Ones tech when you refurbished this place as a prison? Maybe in one of the Basement levels the lift goes to?”

When the only response she got was a stare of incomprehension, Entrapta sighed. Communicating with other people had always been a challenge for her. “Never mind, I’ll figure it out myself.”

The room was filled with arrays of disused consoles. Three rows of them, all facing the same direction. One bare and blank wall that looked like it might have been a central display of some kind. But was inactive. Entrapta strode to the nearest console to her.

But before a single strand of hair could even brush the device, the single lone Horde soldier finally got her wits together. Entrapta froze the moment she felt the nose of a weapon press into her back. The image of Catra and the memory of pain flashing through her mind. Her hair stilled. She stood motionless. Raising her arms up. She did not want to get shocked in the back again. 

“Hold it right there, rebel!” The soldier snapped. 

There was a pounding sound in Entrapta’s ears and it took her a couple moments to realize it was her own pulse. Was she panicking? She couldn’t recall ever panicking once in her adult life. Not since her predecessor was subtracted as a variable in her life. Why was she panicking? The soldier pressed her weapon harder into Entrapta’s back and the image of Catra once again flashed through her mind and she started hyperventilating. Her breathing fast and shallow. Her head starting to feel light and woozy. She was having trouble thinking. Her brain just would not form thoughts. 

Then the Command door opened again and J’Milla ran in with Tondy. 

Smaller and quicker, Tondy jumped past his father and knocked the soldier’s knees out from under them with the shaft of his spear. They tumbled to the floor, the weapon leaving Entrapta’s back and she instantly felt better. Her panic left her almost immediately, leaving behind an off kind of shortness of breath to prove it was ever there in the first place. 

“The Great Beast has taken care of the majority of the Horde.” J’Milla informed her. “Your companion, King Micah is right now freeing the other prisoners. My brother is with him. It appears we were wrong about you. You were not Horde spies. I owe you an apology.”

“Oh.” Entrapta blinked, not sure what she was supposed to do. She wasn’t actually used to being apologized to. The only apology she could recall was when Adora was tied up and trying to explain to her that she never meant to leave her behind. She thought Entrapta was dead. What was a person supposed to do after an apology? Did they shake hands? Hug? The Princes didn’t want to do either of those things. She was not fond of excessive physical contact. “Thank you.”

There was a beat of a pause while she just stood there, wondering if more was necessary. Interacting with people never did come easily to her. 

When it didn’t look like J’Milla or Tondy were going to say more to her, she turned her attention back to what she actually wanted to know about. The disused and ignored First Ones consoles that filled almost the whole Command center. This was a First Ones structure. The whole building was First Ones tech. Out of everything that was unearthed in the mines of Dryl, she never found any First Ones artifacts this large or this well preserved. A whole building. Complete. Whole. Undamaged –apart from what they did just now with the Great Beast. 

What did they build it for? What was its purpose? First Ones tech ran all through out the planet of Etheria. Down into its core. Connecting everything. The network of the Princess’ Runestones, the ecosystems, the climate… The whole planet was First Ones tech. How did this building figure into the machine? The whole place was like an amplifier. What did it amplify?

…


	16. Alternate Best Friends Squad - Super Pal Duo

From far away, it looked like a pile of colossal-sized animal skeletons rising up out of the ocean. Far larger than the skeleton Scorpia saw in the Crimson Wastes. Beast Island truly looked as… beastly as the stories portrayed it. 

But as the Dragon’s Daughter Five drew closer, she could see that it was not several skeletons piled on top of each other. It was cliffs and ridges curving down to the water line. Covered by low-hanging and dropping vines from the jungle that gave the illusion of ribs and spine. It was not a pile of bones climbing out of the sea. It was just normal bedrock and earth. 

“The Horde’s prison is supposed to be on the other side.” Sea Hawk was saying. “We can either find a safe place to drop anchor and cross the jungle to the compound, or sail right up to the prison’s harbor. You used to be pretty high up in the Horde. What would you suggest?”

Scorpia looked back at the island. She didn’t know much about the jungles of Beast Island. Only that they were filled with man-eating beasts, and savage natives that hunted them. She did not know how to navigate the jungle and she wasn’t sure she could guide herself and Sea Hawk through it and still be in any sort of condition to actually stage a rescue. Shaking her head in resignation, she turned back to her companion. 

“We’ll have to pull into the compound’s harbor.” She told him. “I don’t have my Force Captain badge anymore-“ because she cut it in half to pay Sea Hawk “-but we can do the thing that you did in the Fright Zone. We’ll say we’re inspectors. Here for an inspection. Inspector Pirate, and Inspector… uh… Lynda. I’ll be Inspector Lynda.” 

He would have thought she’d pick a more dramatic name, but okay. Sea Hawk steered the ship around the island so that they would come up directly in front of the prison compound and pull into their harbor as if they belonged. “Adventure!”

…

As much as Micah just wanted to go the heck home already, he also had a responsibility to the prisoners he freed. He had to make sure they got off the island safely and were on their way to their own homelands and territories before he could leave and go to his own home and family. That was the burden of leadership. A leader had to take care of those he lead before he took care of himself. 

He hadn’t seen Angella or Glimmer in ten years, he could wait another day while he sorted escapees onto the boats in the captured Horde harbor. 

One prisoner shook his hand as he was about to climb onto the gangplank. “Listen, man…” Micah recognized his voice as the rude one from two cells over from his. “I’m sorry about mocking you for missing your family. I never expected to get out of there, and your irrational hope was just making things worse for me. But it looks like maybe you were right all along.”

Micah had no idea what to say to that. So he just shook the other man’s hand back and did not comment. 

“I’m from the Fallen Star Mountains.” Said the prisoner. “It’s on the other side of Brightmoon. I have to pass through to get home. I’ll tell that Queen of yours that you’re not dead and you’re coming home to her.”

“Tell her I never stopped thinking about her.” Micah asked. “There’s just a few more things I have to do here. But we’ve taken over the Horde’s Beast Island base, and the native Jungle Tribe is willing to join the Alliance –assuming there even still is an Alliance anymore.”

“The Fallen Star Mountains are ruled by the Star Sisters.” The other man informed him. “I’ll see if I can’t urge them to join your Alliance too.”

Now Micah held his hand more firmly, shaking with more enthusiasm. “I would be thankful if you did! The Star Sisters would be powerful allies!”

“I’m Sirius, by the way.” He said.

“Serious by nature, and Sirius by name.” Micah smiled. He needed to get back on his pun-game if he planned on being a Dad to his daughter. Gosh! He hadn’t made a dad-joke in ten years! 

“Sure. Let’s go with that.” Sirius pulled his hand out of the sorcerer’s grip and climbed the gangplank onto the ship. 

Feeling irrationally optimistic –or, perhaps perfectly rational to be optimistic- Micah turned back to the rest of the freed prisoners, still waiting on the dock. There were only four ships in the harbor, but they were big ships and could carry all the prisoners. The difficult part was figuring out who needed to get on which one. Micah spent the majority of the night after the Great Beast had left pouring over a map of Etheria and trying to decide which were the four best ports to send the ships to, to get everyone home. Then trying to figure out where ‘home’ was for each prisoner and sort them onto the ships accordingly.

Other prisoners expressed similar sentiments as they bit their farewells to Micah and boarded the ships. Not promises to visit Brightmoon and speak to Queen Angella about him. But to speak to their own Princesses or Queens about joining the Alliance. 

“I was captain of the guard for Queen Peekablue’s daughter.” One woman informed him. “I had the Queen’s trust and the Queen’s ear before I was captured. I’ll speak to her about the Princess Alliance. She didn’t want to join originally because she knew it would fail-“ Peekablue’s magic was the gift of foresight, when she knew something, she knew it “-perhaps she’ll See differently now.”

A man getting on the same ship as Peekablue’s former captain of the guard stopped to inform him, “I was a soldier of Sweet Bee’s hive.” He placed a fist to his chest and Micah assumed it was meant as a salute. “My Queen rarely does anything without seeking Peekablue’s council. She values the other Queen’s insight –among other reasons- but I will urge her to join the Alliance all the same.”

“Thank you.” Perhaps Micah was a little more passionate than he needed to be. But after spending ten years doing nothing but sitting in the cell, if felt amazing to finally be accomplishing things again. Within the space of a few days, he had escaped from prison, met new allies, gone back to the prison and freed the remaining prisoners, and now was being given promises of possible new allies for their Alliance and Rebellion. Micah was feeling just a little giddy. High off optimism. 

He was still optimistic and –for lack of a better word- high, as he watched the four ships pull away from the docks. Waving goodbye as if parting ways after an extended vacation, and smiling like a fool. 

Micah stood there until the boats were almost out of sight. Disappearing beyond the horizon. 

He was about to turn and go back inside. See how Entrapta was doing inside the compound. But then something else caught his eye. 

At first he was concerned that there was something wrong with one of the ships that caused them to turn around and come back. Engine trouble, or spoiled provisions, tainted water, sickness, or any other number of problems that could occur on a large vessel like the ones employed by the Horde. 

But as he squinted at the tiny dot on the horizon, he realized that it wasn’t one of the commandeered and repurposed Horde ships coming towards them. 

This vessel was smaller. An open deck design. Raised off the water like a hydrofoil. With white sails. Definitely, definitely not a Horde vessel. No Horde boat in all of Etheria would have white sails. Black, red, brown, violet, or gray; yes. But not white. As it came closer, the name on the side of the vessel became readable, identifying it as the Dragon’s Daughter Five, and ‘five’ was spelled out in letters, not abbreviated as V or with a numeral. 

Micah was still gawking, confused, when the Dragon’s Daughter Five pulled right up to the dock he was standing on and a man wearing a jewel-tone blue jacket over a white shirt (also, not Horde colors or uniform) threw a rope over the side. 

“Hey, tie that off for me, will ya?” He said. 

Blinking, moving more on auto-pilot as opposed to making any conscious decision, Micah did as he was asked. Tying off the boat that was most definitely not a Horde boat to the dock. He tugged on the line a couple times just to make sure it was secure. He lived on land almost his whole life and knew very little about the appropriate knots for securing watercraft. 

He must have done alright, because the sailor seemed satisfied enough to jump off the boat to the accompanying cry of, “Adventure!”

Up close, Micah could see that he was actually quite young. With a youthful face and demeanor that implied late teens, but a thick and well groomed mustache that implied early twenties. He offered a hand to someone else in the boat. 

The man’s traveling companion definitely, definitely looked like she could have been Horde. Dressed all in red armor. A Horde color. But there was no insignia on the armor. No winged sigil of the Horde. No badges identifying her as a soldier of their army. She was just wearing red. 

Micah stood there, staring. 

Upon really taking note of him, the pair also paused. Staring at an equal loss as to what to do. 

“You don’t look like a Horde soldier.” Said the woman. 

“You don’t look like Horde soldiers either.” Micah shot back. Except, she kinda did look exactly like a Horde soldier, just without the trademark Horde insignia. 

The man cleared his throat awkwardly, and in a voice that was noticeably deeper than when he asked if Micah could tie off the boat said, “That’s because we’re not Horde soldiers. We’re Inspectors. Yes. And we’re here for the inspection.”

“Inspection?” He echoed, not believing it for a second. 

It would have to be one incredible coincidence that there was an inspection scheduled –literally- the day after a mass prison break in which the prison was taken over by the island’s natives. As a practitioner of magic, Micah knew such absurd coincidences did happen, but not very often. Besides, their vessel was not a Horde vessel, the man was not dressed like a member of the Horde at all, and the woman who was dressed like a Horde was missing all the important identifying insignia. These kids –and, yes, Micah was calling them kids now, they could not have been much older than his own daughter- these kids were not members of the Evil Horde. 

“Yes.” Nodded the man. “The inspection. I am Inspector Pirate, and this here is my associate, Inspector Lynda.”

“Lynda?” Micah echoed, the name sparking some long ago and half-buried memory. He took another look at the woman that was dressed as a Horde. Tall, easily the tallest one of the three of them. And thick-built too. With snow-white hair and dark eyes. Pincer claws in place of hands, and behind her a scorpion tail swayed nervously. The red armor wasn’t Horde armor, it was an exoskeleton. The exoskeleton of a scorpion. And she said her name was ‘Lynda’…? “You can’t be. You’re too young to be Lynda D’Ream!”

Her daughter maybe?

Micah was still a student in Mysticor when the Queendom of Scorpiones was taken over by the Horde and their Runestone given to Hordak in exchange for the life of the Queen and her daughter. Scorpiones fell under Horde control and became the Fright Zone, and Queen Lynda D’Ream became a political hostage to keep those loyal to her under control. 

At least, that was what Micah heard. He was only just a child at the time and nobody ever really told him much about the terrible things that happened below their floating magical island. Nobody except Light Spinner, but that was a childhood trauma for another flashback. 

Micah knew the Queen of Scorpiones had a daughter. She would have only been a year old when she lost her Queendom and was taken from her mother. 

“How do you know- ?“ The scorpion woman began, then cut herself off abruptly. 

Her companion looked at her, the slightest bit of concern seeping into his expression. 

Then she straightened, regaining composure and clearing her throat. The scorpion woman, ‘Lynda’, fixed Micah with a critical glare. “That is not a standard issue uniform.” She informed the sorcerer. “Are you an officer? If not, we’ll have to dock points for a uniform violation.”

“I am an officer, actually.” Micah grinned at her. He had already come to a conclusion about this pair that had pulled into the harbor in a shit that was definitely not a Horde ship, dressed in clothes that were not Horde uniforms, with a flimsy story that did not hold up to scrutiny. “A pretty high ranking officer. In fact, I’m not just an officer. I’m a King, and Leader of the Rebellion.”

For half a second, the two stared at him, dumbfounded. But only for half of one second. 

Then they both snorted. As if he were funny. As if he’d just made a joke. As if they didn’t believe him. 

“No you’re not.” Said ‘Lynda’. “The leader of the Rebellion is Princess Glimmer of Brightmoon.”

At the mention of his daughter’s name, it felt like a current of lightning ripped through Micah. Glimmer, his Glimmer, was leader of the Rebellion? But she was so young! Sure she would have grown up a bit in the ten years he was trapped on Beast Island –in his mind, Micah was still imagining a toddler- but she still had to be in her mid-teens. Fifteen. Maybe sixteen if he was being generous. But certainly not old enough to be in charge of a massive military organization like the Princess Alliance. 

“I’ve met Glimmer.” Added Inspector Pirate. “And she’s definitely not you.” A pause. “Although, you do look a little like her.” 

Micah sputtered for a moment. 

He stared at the pair. They met Glimmer. They knew his daughter. Where they friends? Were they also members of the Princess Alliance? If the scorpion woman really was the daughter of Lynda D’Ream then she was definitely a Princess. Had she joined the Alliance to avenge her mother and take back her Queendom? Did the Alliance send them? Was this a prison break? Were they here to rescue him? Did Glimmer send them?

“Are you with the Alliance?” He finally managed to ask. 

There was another pause. 

The two looked at each other, suddenly unsure. 

“Of course not!” Insisted Inspector Pirate. “We’re Inspectors. We’re here for the inspection.” 

“Yes.” Agreed ‘Lynda’. “Beast Island is overdue for an inspection.”

“Really?” Micah crossed his arms over his chest and giving these young people –these children- a Look. “You’re gonna stand here and try to convince me that you’re Horde. After I just told you I’m King Micah of the Rebellion.”

“Listen, guy, for all we know, you’re just some crazy dude who lives on the island.” Inspector Pirate informed him. “I’ve run into crazy island-dwelling hermits more often than you’d think.”

“Also, it’s a widely-believed fact that King Micah died ten years ago.” ‘Lynda’ added. 

Okay, Micah was getting real tired of this back and forth real quick. Drawing a new sigil in the air, he cast a spell on both of them. His truth spells were some of the strongest in all of Etheria. No one could resist it. No one could lie while under it. 

The pair blinked after the sigil passed through them. Unsure of what he just did. They had enough experience around magic to recognize it when they saw it, but not what kind of magic it was. 

“Alright, let’s start again.” Micah announced. “What are your names?”

“I’m Scorpia.”

“Sea Hawk.”

Micah nodded. He never knew the name of Queen Lynda’s daughter, but ‘Scorpia’ seemed to fit. Sea Hawk was slightly less stupid than ‘Inspector Pirate’, but only slightly. 

“And why are you here?” Was the obvious follow-up question. 

“I’m just her ride.” Announced Sea Hawk. Then, without prompting, followed it up with, “I’m always just the ride. That’s all anyone ever wants from me. Nobody’ll ever love me and I’m gonna die alone.”

That was a lot to unpack right there, and Micah did not have the time for it. He turned his attention to Scorpia. 

“I-“ She hesitated. Was she trying to fight the truth spell? Or was the hesitation for other reasons? “I need to rescue a friend. She- we were both betrayed by someone- by someone we both thought was our friend. I- I should have realized it sooner, but I was so smitten. You know when you look at someone through rose-colored glasses all the red flags just look like flags. I was naïve and Entrapta paid the price for it. I need to fix it.”

“Entrapta?” Echoed Micah. “You’re here to rescue Entrapta?”

“Yes.” Scorpia answered truthfully –not just because she was under a truth spell. 

Micah’s expression softened. Who would have thought that Queen Ensnarea’s daughter would formed friendships that motivated them to storm Beast Island to rescue her. It was endearing. But more importantly, it was reassuring of the next generation of Princesses. “I’ll take you to her.”

Sea Hawk and Scorpia exchanged a look. 

“We don’t actually know he is who he says he is.” Sea Hawk reminded her. 

“And we just confessed to a bunch of stuff any member of the Horde should totally execute us for.” Scorpia agreed. “But I think if he was gonna attack us he would have done it by now.”

“Worse comes to worse we can get Entrapta’s robot to rescue us.” Sea Hawk decided. He turned back to the boat and shouted. “Hey, Emily! You up to pointing your weapons at someone other than me?”

Turning his head unnecessarily slowly, Micah looked back at the ship to see what looked like a Horde bot try and climb over the railing. Only to teeter unsteadily on one stuck leg, then move back, trying to regain its balance on the deck. 

“Hang on, I’ll help you.” Scorpia went back to the boat. Pulling on the line, she scraped the side of the boat right up against the dock, then put one foot up on the railing, pressing that side down into the water. “Try and roll out.”

Tucking its legs under it, the Horde bot did as it was told. Rolling on the deck, bouncing a little bit as it passed over the boat’s railing and onto the dock. Regaining its footing, the bot gave a pleased little trill of appreciation. 

Micah just blinked. “Sorry, did you say that’s Entrapta’s robot?”

“Yeah.” Scorpia smiled, as if there wasn’t anything wrong with a Princess having her own personal Horde robot as a pet. “She found her in the Fright Zone and reprogrammed her.”

Oh. Well, that was alright then. Micah relaxed. “I’ll take you to Entrapta.”

He led them inside. Sea Hawk and Scorpia falling into step behind him, still looking suspicious and unsure. The reprogrammed Horde bot, Emily, hobbling along behind them with one leg that seemed stuck and immobile. It made a loud THUNK, THUNK, THUNK sound with every step. But it seemed to reassure the other two. 

Leading the pair through the uneven and twisting corridors of the compound, Micah did have to admit that Entrapta did have a point. The construction of this place really was counter intuitive and nothing at all like normal Horde construction. 

There was a tense pause when they got to the lift and all of them looked at each other suspicious that the others would try and attack them in the enclosed space of the elevator cabin. But then the lift opened up again and they all stepped out onto the Command floor and both Scorpia and Sea Hawk paused for an entirely different reason. 

Both of them froze, staring at the artistic depicting of the two planets flanking the door, with an infinity wrapped around them. 

“That looks like-“ Gasped Sea Hawk. 

“-First Ones writing.” Scorpia finished for him. 

“Like from the Northern Reach.” The sea captain looked suddenly concerned. “You don’t think there are bug-like First Ones tech monsters here too, do you?”

Scorpia bit her bottom lip. “I mean… even if there are, we should be alright so long as Entrapta didn’t fix that First Ones virus disk. Right?”

“You two can read that?” Micah asked, impressed. 

“No.” Both of them informed him in perfect unison. 

“The only people on Etheria who can read First Ones writing are scholars who’ve spent their whole lives studying it –and they’re not even very good.” Sea Hawk explained. “And She-Ra.”

“She-Ra!” Micah almost tripped over his own feet. 

He fell against the wall, landing on the door release for the Command room. The door slid open and a mass of lavender hair shifted at the sound. Twin-tails twisting, lifting out of the wait to reveal a familiar welding mask. There was the heartbeat of a pause, then one thin tendril of hair moved to lift the mask, revealing the familiar but confused face of Princess Entrapta. 

“Scorpia?” She asked. “What are you doing here?”

Before she knew what she was doing, the other woman rushed into the room. Scooping Entrapta up into her arms, she wrapped Entrapta up in a crushing hug. 

“I’m so glad you’re okay!” Scorpia sobbed into that mass of thick lavender locks. “I’m so sorry I just stood there and did nothing when you needed me. But I’m here now. I came to rescue you!”

Pulling away, as much as she could still held by the larger woman’s iron grip, Entrapta blinked at her. “You came to rescue me?” 

No one had ever come to rescue her before. Not even the Princess Alliance, the self-proclaimed champions of ‘Good’. Not Glimmer and Bow who claimed to be her friends. Not Adora who lead the charge into the Fright Zone to rescue Glimmer. But Scorpia came to rescue her from Beast Island. Tears welled up in her eyes and for once, Entrpata did not lower her welding mask down to cover them. 

“You’re my best friend!” And she hugged back. With her arms. Not her hair.


	17. Privilege of Serving

The office walls were bare. Lord Hode could say what he wanted about other species and hanging useless pictures on their walls. But Zero-Zero-Three preferred to work without the distraction, and since Lord Hode had abandoned him on this Host forsaken rock, the recently demoted Captain felt he was entitled to ignore his Lord’s opinion on the matter. So, the abstract paintings came down. The blood-soaked carpet was ripped up and replaced with dull gray floor-panels. 

Zero-Zero-Three took over rule, as he was commanded. Set his forces to rooting out and destroying the last remnants of the native’s rebellion, and re-solidifying Imperial Horde control of not just the planet but the system. 

The short lived native revolution and subsequent Imperial backlash and takeover had left a large percentage of the population’s young parentless. Unlike Horde clones, these naturally hatched creatures (or naturally born, in all honesty Zero-Zero-Three was unclear on how non-cloned beings did things) did not possess either the physical ability or the mental capacity to care for themselves. Some could not even walk on their own or feed themselves yet. Apparently, those were things that came with time out of the –uh, egg. Without adults to care for them, the care for these orphans –orphans being a new word Zero-Zero-Three learned, meaning an offspring without living parents- the care for these orphans fell to the ruling body. Fell on the Empire. Fell on Zero-Zero-Three as the Imperial Territory Captain ruling the planet in Horde Prime’s name. 

Massaging the side of his head, Zero-Zero-Three suppressed the urge to groan. Why couldn’t all beings just hatch from tanks? Artificially grown. At a physical age resembling adulthood. With the knowledge and understanding they would need to be self-sufficient already programed into them. Why did other beings have to be so… primitive? 

No clone trooper could be expected to care for these orphans. But without care they would most certainly succumb and expire. That would not do, since the Empire relied on the populations of conquered worlds for labor to support their clone armies. The job of child care would have to be delegated to their own people. But to prevent another generation of rebels to be raised, Zero-Zero-Three had to offer incentives to those who remained loyal to the Horde Empire. 

All the property of the rebels was seized by the Empire. Dwellings of appropriate size were repurposed to house hatchlings orphaned by the battle –or just orphaned in general. Why limit it only to the offspring of dead rebels. All hatchlings had the potential to grow up into useful adult units that could support the Empire. Adult natives who worked to care for these parentless hatchlings were given room and board in the dwelling with them, plus double rations. If they already had homes of their own, or families of their own and still took care of the Empire’s orphans, then their whole family was given double rations. 

Since Lord Hode had said that their culture placed importance on children and the family unit, Zero-Zero-Three felt it necessary to make a show of offering relief to those with offspring and families. 

Hode often liked to repeat that if one understood a species, one could control a species. Zero-Zero-Three wasn’t sure if he believed that entirely. But, he did have to admit that local aliens –across multiple worlds, over average- were less discontent, and less likely to revolt when the occupying Territory Captain made concessions in favor of local interests. Here, local interests were children and families. So, Zero-Zero-Three implemented policies that would ease the hardships of children and families. 

He must have been doing something right. Because by the time the planet completed a single rotation around its sun, the previous uprising was a thing of the past. If it was spoken of, it was along the lines of ‘hey, remember that thing that happened?’ ‘Yeah… but it’s better now.’ With no mention of recent decent. 

Zero-Zero-Three walked down the main street that lead out from the capitol building. The same street that, one planetary year ago, had run green with native blood, was now clean and almost sparkling. Paved with a composite stone made from local aggregate minerals. It was overall a muted and neutral gray color. But when the sun hit it just so, tiny flecks of the aggregate in it reflected the light and shone with multiple colors. Like the facets of a prism, or ombre tones of a pearl. It was actually quite pretty. (Not that Zero-Zero-Three would ever admit out loud that he found the literal ground beneath his feet pretty.) Hode would have liked it. He would have made some comment about the aliens choosing to use a sparkly mineral for utilitarian purposes like paving was ‘whimsical’ –whatever that meant. 

It wasn’t just the literal street itself that was brighter. 

The buildings that lined the way –most of which were businesses- were open, full, and thriving. Nearest the capital building were stores for convince. Which sold an eclectic collection of bottled water, speeder fuel, domestic coolant, adhesive bandages, poor quality chargers for mobile communicators, lighters, and any manner of other items one might need in a pinch. Then there were the eateries. Local restaurants and cafes that served local foods. Overall, the Horde did not eat local foods no matter what planet they were on. Overall, most clones preferred the bland and flavorless ration bars that were provided for them. Alien cuisine held too much flavor and was overpowering to the clone pallet. 

“Captain, hey, Captain, you gotta try this!” But every now and again, one clone trooper would diverge from his brothers and develop a taste for local fair.

Looking across the plaza, Zero-Zero-Three saw the brother that was trying to flag him down. Sitting in the outdoor seating area of a café was a clone trooper like himself. Identical in face and pigmentation. But wearing the zero-suit of a wing-pilot. Ugh. Wing-pilots. Zero-Zero-Three would be lying if he did not admit that he was not fond of them. Those that piloted the batwing-class fighters did not comport themselves with dignity and restraint as befitted the clones of the Emperor of the Known Universe. Wing-pilots, were energetic, flippant, liberal, and impulsive. It was rumored that they got different programming and conditioning in the tanks, and that was why their behavior was so… abrasive to other more conventional clones. 

Suppressing the urge to groan, Zero-Zero-Three crossed the street to silence the brother that was trying so animatedly to make a scene. 

“Be silent!” He snarled. “And behave yourself as if you were made from the most perfect being in the universe.”

“Right.” Nodded the wing-pilot as if he’d merely forgotten that he was supposed to be a tall scary soldier within a military engine for Imperial colonization and control. He cleared his throat, then in a more controlled tone began again. “Captain Zero-Zero-Three, the locals of this café have made a dish especially for us. You must try it. It’s very good! They call it ‘unseasoned fowl’.”

Zero-Zero-Three peered down at the all white-meat cut of bird on his brother’s plate. Unprocessed meats did not appeal to him. He turned his eyes back to his brother. “Eating local cooking is the fastest way to get yourself poisoned.” He informed the clone. “See that your batwing is serviced and your bunk is in order before you die.”

Zero-Zero-Three continued walking. 

After the restaurants and the cafes, were the most useless of businesses: the curios and keepsake shops. Places that sold tiny statuettes, and globes filled with fluid with flecks of glitter that swirled around when you shook them, unnecessary clothing articles, or accessories, highly edited photos. Junk. Stores that sold junk. Clutter. 

But then Zero-Zero-Three paused in front of the window of one shot that proudly claimed to sell ‘classic art’, as opposed to ‘contemporary art’ –the distinction was something Hode went out of his way to explain to Zero-Zero-Three. ‘Contemporary art’ was relevant to the time in which it was made. ‘Contemporary art’ for this planet, in this time, usually featured muted colors, simplified lines, and the winged emblem of the occupying Horde Empire somewhere within the piece. But ‘classic art’ for this planet was brighter, more vibrant. Featuring almost all the colors of the spectrum and depicting subjects of whimsy and frivolity. One in particular caught Zero-Zero-Three’s attention. 

In the shop window was displayed a painting of one of the alien natives, sitting in a sunny meadow, with some kind of string instrument laying across their four legs. Zero-Zero-Three did not care for the image as a whole. Not really. He had no love for the cultural clutter that was art. But the string instrument featured in the image reminded him of his Lord. Since Hode had chosen to reminisce about their first meeting before he left Zero-Zero-Three on this world, the younger clone had often recalled that same meeting often since his Lord left. 

A mission briefing. The first mission briefing Zero-Zero-Three attended since being promoted to a sub-Commander, and an unorthodox briefing as far as he could tell. 

Lord Hode gathered all his Force Captains and their sub-Commanders into the Gallery Deck of the Vinyl Hood, and after explaining that their targets were Randor and his brother –who’s name escaped Zero-Zero-Three now- they were deposed princes from an already conquered world, and had turned rebel leaders. Hode insisted on playing a song from that very same already conquered world. That was when Zero-Zero-Three asked the relevance, the question that drew him to his Lord’s attention. No other clone would have ever dared question a cabinet Lord, no matter how irrelevant they thought his eccentricities were. 

‘An insight into the enemy mind.’ Hode had answered simply. Even back then, he tried to encourage those who served under him to study and understand the races they conquered and ruled. ‘If you understand a species, you can control them.’

Zero-Zero-Three had no idea where Hode learned to play an instrument. He found it hard to imagine some terrified native of some conquered world calming down enough to teach a cabinet Lord to pluck the strings in any order that might produce a tune. 

The Host knew the Horde did not have musical instruments! The Horde did not compose music, or sing songs. The Horde had no need for such things. 

Looking at the painting in the window and remembering that unorthodox mission briefing, Zero-Zero-Three could even almost recall the lyrics to that strange alien song. ‘…Wielding blades of steel and light, the purest spirit, sealed inside…’

Acting on impulse and surprising himself as much as the shop owner, Zero-Zero-Three pushed the door open and stepped inside. A tiny little bell over the door tinkling to announce him. The poor shop owner looked like they might faint when they saw it was a Horde officer that had just entered. They probably thought they were about to be raided. 

“That. In the window.” Zero-Zero-Three pointed at the canvas stretched over a wooden frame before the alien could speak. 

The shop owner blinked their ocular organs at him, waiting for the Territory Captain to finish his statement. When he didn’t, the alien –speaking in heavily accented and broken Imperial Basic- offered, “Would Sir like the painting?”

Then Zero-Zero-Three realized he wasn’t actually sure what he wanted. He certainly didn’t want it for himself. He had no use for ‘art’. 

“I could make it a gift for Sir.” The alien clarified that they had no illusions about charging a payment from a Horde soldier. 

A gift, yes. Not for himself, he had no use for the art. But for Lord Hode. Zero-Zero-Three would never be so weak as to beg his Lord to come back and take him away from this place. To take him back into space. By his Lord’s side. Where he belonged. But a gift of art –which Lord Hode was fond of- would at least remind the older clone that Zero-Zero-Three still existed. That he did as ordered. That he did not complain. That he was a good servant. Then, maybe, after being reminded of that, Hode might return to this world, collect Zero-Zero-Three, and take him away from this place. 

“Yes.” Nodded Zero-Zero-Three, arms folding behind his back in a rest. “I will take it.”

…

But Zero-Zero-Three did not hear back from Hode after he sent the gift to his Lord. Not even a short message wave over the extranet to thank Zero-Zero-Three for the gift. Of course, cabinet Lords did not need to thank those beneath them for paying tribute. But Hode usually tended to make an effort to acknowledge the efforts of those below him. He said he received a high quality performance from subordinates that felt recognized. So it was odd to Zero-Zero-Three that he never even received a message from his Lord confirming that he even got it. 

Such an occurrence was so out of character for the older clone, that Zero-Zero-Three hunted down his logistics officer to make sure it was even sent in the first place. 

The logistics officer looked downright insulted that his Territory Captain thought he was so incompetent as to march down to his office and demand a follow-up report. “Yes, Captain, I sent the package to Lord Hode aboard the Vinyl Hood.” He insisted. “I can’t presume to know why the Lord hasn’t responded to you yet. I’m sure he’s very busy. He is a Lord after all.”

Maybe you’re just not as important to him as you thought you were. 

“Where is the Vinyl Hood now?” Zero-Zero-Three asked instead. Maybe with the ship were within a hundred lightyears or less, he could just call Lord Hode directly over the com-set and ask if he received the painting and if he liked it. 

The logistics officer huffed. Actually huffed. As if following the order of his Territory Captain and commanding officer were a great inconvenience for him. As if Zero-Zero-Three were being absurd and the logistics officer was only humoring him because he was the other clone’s commanding officer. 

He punched the request into his terminal, then paused. Confused by what it told him. “Huh. That’s odd.”

“What is? What’s odd?” Demanded Zero-Zero-Three. 

“It says here the Vinyl Hood’s been decommissioned.” He explained. 

“That can’t be right.” Zero-Zero-Three insisted. “The Vinyl Hood is the flagship of a cabinet Lord. They don’t just decommission those out of the black on a whim.” 

The only time in his own living memory that Zero-Zero-Three could recall a cabinet Lord’s flagship being decommissioned was after that cabinet Lord had died. 

Remembering that, a horrifying thought occurred to Zero-Zero-Three. Lord Hode was very old. The oldest clone he knew of. He had never known a Horde clone to die of ‘old age’ before. Almost all clones were killed. ‘Natural causes’ was not a thing within the Horde military machine. But if anyone was going to die of ‘natural causes’ it would be the oldest one. 

He looked back at the logistics officer. “Does it give a reason?”

“No, Captain.” The other answered. “I don’t have the appropriate clearance for that. And it’s not pertinent to my duties.”

“Let me see.” Zero-Zero-Three pushed the other officer out of the way and keyed his own clearance and access codes into the terminal. Apparently, as a Territory Captain and former-Force Captain working under the direct command of a cabinet Lord, he still did not have the appropriate clearance either. Zero-Zero-Three growled in the back of his throat, baring his teeth at the screen. How dare it deny him. 

Next to him, the logistics officer seemed unconcerned. He sipped a mug of caff –an alien beverage from another world that was strong and unpleasant in flavor, but high in caffeine. “Are you done, Captain? Because I would very much like to get back to work now.”

Zero-Zero-Three snarled at him too, but said nothing. Storming away, he returned to his own duties as ruling Imperial agent of the system. He had other things to concern him besides what may or may not have happened to the Lord who abandoned him here –even if his Lord’s fate was very concerning. 

As he watched the Territory Captain stomp away, the logistics officer just continued to sip his caff. 

…

Responsibilities as a Territory Captain kept Zero-Zero-Three busy. While the decommissioning of the Vinyl Hood did concern him greatly, he could not afford spend too much time thinking on it. He didn’t have the appropriate clearance to inquire about it, so there was no point in trying. All he’d succeed in doing would be to irritate his Lord –assuming Hode was even still alive to annoy. Zero-Zero-Three didn’t know, and that was also a concern he tried not to spend too much time thinking on. 

Then a memo crossed his desk informing the Territory Captain –him- that the Velvet Glove, the Emperor’s flagship was enroute to the system and due to arrive at the planet within the week. 

Zero-Zero-Three almost fainted when he read that –and it had nothing to do with his defects. 

The Velvet Glove! The Emperor’s flagship! Was Horde Prime coming? He rarely entrusted his personal ship and pride of the Horde space fleet to anyone else. Horde Prime, the Emperor of the Known Universe was coming to his system, to his planet. 

In a bit of a panic, Zero-Zero-Three opened up a conference call between all the pertinent departments. Himself, his chief security officer, the wing squadron leader, communications secretary, and the asshat from logistics (whom slurped at a mug of caff loudly through out the whole video conference). 

‘Within the week’ meant ‘less than a week’. Horde Prime did not give them much time to prepare, arrange accommodations appropriate for the Emperor of the Known Universe, organize a suitable welcoming with all the necessary displays of loyalty and reverence. As Lord Hode taught him all those years ago, that’s all it was. A show. A show of loyalty. A show of power. Zero-Zero-Three didn’t need to be shown how powerful his Big Brother was. But he desperately wanted his Brother to know how much he revered and adored his Emperor and genetic template. 

All Horde clones revered Horde Prime. He was their creator. The Horde did not have gods, but Horde Prime was definitely ‘god-like’ to them. 

Standing on the covered platform of the spacedock, Zero-Zero-Three felt a lump of nervousness form in his throat. 

The last report, from when the ships came out of hyperspace, was that it was not just the Velvet Glove and its escorts. It was the Velvet Glove, the Linen Cloak, the Lycra Pant, and the Leather Vest. Three of the four cabinet Lords’ flagships. All but the Vinyl Hood, which Zero-Zero-Three already knew was decommissioned. 

Why would the Emperor and his whole cabinet –minus Hode- come to this little world he’d been marooned on? This little world who’s only trait of value was that it was an almost equal distance between Capitol Core and Old Revena. 

Zero-Zero-Three stood nervously at parade rest. He was all the more aware of how tight the high collar of his uniform was. He wanted to reach up a talon to unclasp one of the fasteners and allow himself some breathing room, but he refrained. As the highest ranking officer on the planet, it was his duty to greet the Emperor’s party. He was about to meet the Emperor of the Known Universe, actually meet him, not just glimpse a triangle of fabric from his cape from across the room. Zero-Zero-Three was going to see him. He did not want to look disheveled in the presence of his Emperor. His Brother. The Brother of all. 

The capitol ships remained in orbit over the planet. Horde Prime and his cabinet came down in shuttles. Three shuttles and one batwing painted a non-standard shade of red –that one would be Lord Hordwing, it was said he was a Wing Captain before being elevated to cabinet Lord and refused to let other brothers pilot for him. 

Lord Red Hord’s shuttle landed first. 

But the hatch did not even open until Emperor Prime landed and exited his. 

Only then did Lord Red Hord and Lord Hordren disembark from their own crafts and join their Emperor on the platform. 

Sinking down to one knee, eyes on the floor, the flat palm of his right hand going over his heart, Zero-Zero-Three executed the bow he spent less than a week practicing. Every clone was programed with knowledge of the correct etiquette for meeting their Emperor and Brother. But none of them ever felt the need to practice said etiquette. There was over three billion of them, and only one Horde Prime. Most clones went their whole lives and never met their Brother. 

Zero-Zero-Three kept his eyes focused on the ground between them, waiting for the order to rise. Just within the peripheral of his vision were the steel-toes of Prime’s boots, and the faintest whispering of the hem of a green cape. It was about as much of the Emperor as the clone got to see back in the Grand Throne Room aboard the Velvet Glove so many years ago. 

“You are the Territory Captain in charge of this world.” Prime announced. It was not a question. Horde Prime probably had legions of aids to brief him on what Captains were in charge of what planets or troops. The Emperor knew his rank, his serial number, who assigned him his post, and how long he’d been installed on this world. 

“Captain Zero-Zero-Three, Your Grace.” He answered without lifting his eyes. 

“A First Row.” Prime commented. 

A clone hatched from one of the tanks in the first row of a hundred. There were fifty crèches in total on Capital Core, each crèche held nine-hundred tanks, all divided into nine long rows of one hundred each. The clones in the first one hundred tanks were the first to be hatched in any crèche. There was also a saying about First Rows. ‘First out of the tank, first to die’. There was no formally compiled evidence to show whether this was true or not. All clone troopers had high mortality rates. Soldiers tended to die frequently. That was why the cloning factory produced so many. To keep up with turn-over. 

The planet he was stationed on had completed one of its local years. However, planetary years were based on planetary rotations around their local sun(s). Standard Imperial Years were measured off a different system and tended to be longer than the average planetary year. Zero-Zero-Three answered in Imperial Years.

“I am eleven SIY.” He still kept his eyes down. The Emperor had no given him leave to rise yet. 

“A long lifespan.” Did Prime sound impressed? Zero-Zero-Three hoped his Emperor was Impressed. Most clones did not make it past their eight SIY. 

“That’s what I’ve been told, Your Grace.” Zero-Zero-Three didn’t know what else he was supposed to say to a statement like that. When he learned of his condition and the handicaps that came with it, he didn’t expect to live much longer beyond that. Now, here he was, meeting the Emperor. 

Did Hode know this would happen? ‘Preform your duties here well, and you just might find yourself elevated above a Force Captain.’ Was that what was happening here? Lord Hode was gone and Prime needed a new clone to fill his cabinet. But… if that were true, then Lord Hode was… 

Zero-Zero-Three felt his heart hammer against his ribcage, and it had nothing to do with his defects. 

“Rise, Little Brother.” Commanded Prime. 

He called him ‘Little Brother’. Zero-Zero-Three was not prepared to the fuzzy, light-headed feeling when the Emperor of the Know Universe –whom was Brother to all- called him ‘Little Brother’. He was almost… giddy? Was giddiness a feeling Horde clones could experience? If so, that’s what Zero-Zero-Three felt. Horde Prime called him ‘Little Brother’! 

He kept his eyes down as he rose from his bow. Trailing up the Emperor’s body. Steel-toed boots that melted seamlessly into metal greaves. Utilitarian combat tights, nothing fancy or pretentious Horde Prime was a warrior first and a ruler second. One arm hung casually at his side, the other hand rested casually on his hip. Both covered in light plate armor going all the way down to the tips of his talons. It gave the illusion that his arms and hands were made of steel and not flesh. A chest that was lightly armored, the breastplate emblazoned with the red-winged emblem of the Horde Empire. A cape of bright green falling from the armor of his shoulders. Hesitantly, Zero-Zero-Three raised his eyes up to look at the Emperor’s face. 

He was expecting to see his own face looking back at him. After all, he had the same face as all his other brothers. They were all clones of the same man. This man. Their face was his face. 

Prime was taller than Zero-Zero-Three. Taller than all his clones. They were all the same height. But Prime stood almost a head above Zero-Zero-Three. His face was older than he expected too. As old as Hode looked, in fact. With more lines under his eyes, and coming down from his bottom lip, creases on his forehead and over his ears. And scars! Zero-Zero-Three never imagined his genetic template having scars. He never thought anything in the universe could harm his Brother. He was a perfect being! How could he have been injured to have scars?

One long diagonal gash starting from just above his ear on the left side, and cutting down across his face to end at his chin on the right. The scar looked old. Rough skin knitted together unevenly, and darkened with age. 

Zero-Zero-Three didn’t realize he was staring until Prime spoke again. 

“Show me this planet you’ve been holding for me.” He commanded. 

“Yes, Your Grace.” Zero-Zero-Three preformed an overly theatrical about-face and was about to lead his Emperor off of the spacedock platform. 

But before he could take even one step, Red Hord mentioned, “Hordwing is still flying around.”

Freezing in his step, Zero-Zero-Three experienced a brief moment of panic. Did he just offend his Emperor and the cabinet by forgetting and excluding Lord Hordwing? Turning his head, the clone looked past the Emperor and Lords to see if Hordwing’s red-painted batwing was coming in to dock. 

Hordwing appeared to be doing loops and barrel-rolls over the city. 

Horde Prime did not even look back to see what his third cabinet Lord was doing in his personal, one-man, fighter. “Leave him be. He will tire himself out, and be presentable by dinner.” To Zero-Zero-Three he said, “Lead the way, Captain.”

In a bit of a daze, the clone turned back around and began leading the Imperial party without actually knowing where they were going or what he should show them. Zero-Zero-Three wasn’t expecting to have to make any decisions during this visit. He was expecting the Emperor or the cabinet to give him his orders. They were his superiors. What did he know about what they wanted?

He decided to begin by showing them the space port. It was the only redeeming thing about this planet. 

Trade. 

It was equal distances between Capital Core and Old Revena. Right in the center of the Empire. Center of the Empire, and center of trade. Everything passed through here. Synthetic embryotic fluid for cloning, coaxium, taydenite, and spice. Raw materials like iron, carbon, the steel that was made from them, copper, silver, gold. Clean water. Unprocessed food resources like wheat, barley, rice, quinoa, corn, and the ration bars that were made from them. Also textiles like silks, wool, linen, velvet, vinyl, leather, and lycra. Tiles, and bricks, and glass. Cement, plasters, industrial space adhesives, epoxies. 

The spaceport was booming with activity. 

Hundreds of different ship designs, crewed by thousands of different kinds of aliens. Loading, unloading, haggling with yet other aliens. A busy center of commerce, teeming with activity. 

Prime’s expression remained impassive as Zero-Zero-Three pointed out the security check points he added. He was a little reluctant to point out the other non-military changes he’d made, such as a care center specifically for the offspring of those that worked at the docks. Since the native culture placed a high importance on their offspring, they could work for the Empire, and work calmly and more efficiently knowing their children were nearby. Also scheduling breaks and mealtimes, as well as setting caps for how long work shifts could be. Lord Hode tried to teach him that not all races had the stamina that was engineered into Horde clones. Other races needed to pace themselves. Other races needed breaks. Other races needed to stop and sleep after so much activity. (It was a lesson Zero-Zero-Three was beginning to understand himself, as his defects required him to rest more often and consume more calories than his brothers to keep up his energy.)

But then Prime directly asked Zero-Zero-Three how he managed to, not only recover after the revolt, but actually improve on the numbers from the previous Territory Captain prior to said revolt. So, Zero-Zero-Three told him. Showed his the child-care center, the breakroom, the workers only lounge, the barracks for those that did not have pre-existing homes to go back to after shifts. All the while, Prime’s face remained an impassive mask. Impossible to read. Not even the curtesy of ear movements to clue the nervous Captain in on his Emperor’s thoughts. 

From behind Prime, Lord Hordren asked how Zero-Zero-Three could trust the natives to work the shipping yards with so many freedoms so soon after a rebellion had just been squelched. All the changes he implemented looked an awful lot like privileges given to worlds and peoples that remained loyal. What had these creatures done to earn such difference?

Zero-Zero-Three paused, feeling nervous again with all three pairs of eyes on him now. Not just Lord Hordren, but Lord Red Hord and the Emperor himself. A cabinet Lord had asked him a question. He shouldn’t hesitate too long in answering. 

“Incentive.” He blurted out. Then quickly scrambled to give a more eloquent and detailed explanation. “I was not originally a Territory Captain. Before this, I was a Force Captain. I commanded Your Grace’s military and kept peace in the Empire. I have put down more rebellions than I can count-“ Zero-Zero-Three knew the exact number of rebellions he’d put down since becoming a Force Captain “-and one consistent theme between them all seemed to be that the rebels felt they had more incentive to resist than to accept Imperial rule. Giving them more incentive to remain obedient reduces the chances of rebellion.”

Red Hord tapped his chin in thought. He used to be a Force Captain before he was a cabinet Lord. Zero-Zero-Three knew that because he knew Red Hord before he was ‘Lord Red Hord’. Back when the other clone was just Captain Four-Zero-Eight. He wondered what opinion another Force Captain might have. 

But then Red Hord glanced to Prime, looking to the Emperor for the final word. Hordren was also looking to Prime, and Zero-Zero-Three wondered if they knew something of their Brother’s thoughts already. They were cabinet Lords. They were closest to the Emperor. If anyone could guess what Prime was thinking, it would be them. 

Zero-Zero-Three felt his ears droop when it occurred to him that Prime might disapprove of how lenient he was with this world. Should he have been stricter? Impose an earlier curfew. Have more frequent sweeps of the city. More surveillance and security at the ports and docks. Did Prime think Zero-Zero-Three was irresponsible and negligent. Or worse, lazy. A failure. Useless. 

Zero-Zero-Three did not know how to hold a planet. 

There was an uncomfortably long pause in which no one said anything and everyone was looking at Prime. 

Finally, the Emperor turned, almost as if he’d lost interest in the space port and the shipping docks. “Be carful, Captain, a being might not have the ‘incentive’ to remain obedient to you if they get the chance to experience something… else.”

Red Hord and Hordren looked momentarily tense. 

Zero-Zero-Three blinked, confused. Prime placed so much weight on ‘someone else’, he wondered if there was another meaning in that statement that he was just too ignorant or too much of a ‘slow learner’ to understand. His ears drooped just a fraction before he caught the action and consciously forced the muscles in his ears to stand up. 

“We’ll have to wait to see the long-term results of these policies of yours.” Emerald green cape swirling around his ankles, Prime moved to the corridors that would eventually take them out of the shipping dock complex. “I am board of menial laborers. Show me your administrative bases.”

So, Zero-Zero-Three took the Imperial party to the capitol building. He drove the landspeeder (that was adapted for urban use) himself. 

Hordwing’s custom red batwing dove low and zoomed over the streets and between buildings multiple times as they drove. The first couple of times this happened it startled Zero-Zero-Three enough that he thought he might have to take evasive action to protect the Emperor. 

But Prime and the rest of the cabinet seemed unaffected. After the third time –when Zero-Zero-Three was just starting to acclimate to the distraction- Red Hord slouched in his seat, massaging the side of his head, and muttered, “By the Host, ‘Wing, haven’t you calmed down yet?”

For half a moment, Zero-Zero-Three was about to ask what it was that Lord Hordwing might need to calm down from. But reminded himself that Hordwing was a cabinet Lord and it was not any of his business. Then he remembered that the Lord used to be a Wing Captain before he was elevated to the cabinet. Wing-pilots were just… that way. 

For the rest of the drive, Zero-Zero-Three tried to ignore the bright red batwing that seemed determined to panic every single being within the city –native, visiting alien, and clone trooper alike. 

Overall, Zero-Zero-Three’s administrative and clerical practices were not all that different from any other Territory Captain’s. All clones were programmed the same in the tank. They all thought, more-or-less, the same, and all organized things more-or-less the same. Horde Prime lost interest in touring the capitol building even quicker than he grew board of the spaceport and shipping docks. 

There was one gratifying moment, however, as the party was passing the work station of that asshat logistics officer who slurped his caff loudly. He was sucking on his mug of caff, making those obnoxiously loud sipping sounds, when he noticed the Emperor just walked by him and he spilled his mug of –hot- caff all over his lap. Hearing him holler in pain made Zero-Zero-Three the happiest he’d been all week. 

Prime’s unreadable stone expression did not change. By the end of the tour, Zero-Zero-Three didn’t know if he’d done well in his position, or disappointed his Emperor in all categories. 

“I see you’ve kept the government up to standards.” Was all the Emperor said, and the clone decided to take that as a complement. At least, he did not disappoint. He was ‘up to standards’. “You may show me to what passes for comfortable quarters on this world then return to your duties. But I expect you to join us for dinner, Captain.”

“Your Grace?” Zero-Zero-Three had to make sure he heard that right. Horde Prime, the Emperor of the Known Universe, and Brother to all, had invited him to share a meal? He felt slightly light headed again and had no idea if it was from his defects or not. 

“Do not make me repeat myself, Captain, I am not an indulgent man.” Prime informed him. 

“No, of course not, Your Grace!” Zero-Zero-Three quickly shut up and showed Prime to the rooms he’d had furnished as private living quarters for the Emperor. 

The communique only said the Emperor was coming. It did not mention that three of four cabinet Lords would all be in attendance, and so Zero-Zero-Three hadn’t prepared anything for them. Once Prime was settled, enjoying the privacy of his rooms, the clone rushed to get three other rooms cleaned, furnished, and ready for Hordren, Hordwing, and Red Hord. 

It was a whirlwind of barking orders, motion, carted furniture, flying linens, and many varied alien expletives that Zero-Zero-Three had never heard before. He warned each and every being that used such vulgar language –both alien and clone trooper alike- that such profanity would not be tolerated while the Emperor was in residence. This was the only warning. Make sure everyone else knew to comport themselves with dignity and respect. If he had to repeat himself, there would be no other warnings, Zero-Zero-Three would start taking tongues. 

Everything was finally ready by the time Hordwing’s batwing finally landed in the courtyard outside the capitol building. One pronged wing of the fighter almost decapitating the fountain statue that Lord Hode had made Zero-Zero-Three study when he first arrived on this world. 

He rushed down to greet the cabinet Lord properly. 

Red Hord was already down there by the time Zero-Zero-Three came running up. 

He stopped short. It looked like the two were talking and Zero-Zero-Three did not want to interrupt what might be an important –if informal- discussion between two cabinet members. 

Still snippets of the conversation couldn’t help but drift to his ears. All Horde clones had excellent hearing. The pointed shape and long length of their ears didn’t miss much. 

“…I do my best thinking in a cockpit.” Lord Hordwing seemed to be explaining. “I was thinking about what the Old Ghoul was saying before-“ 

He cut himself off abruptly, noticing Zero-Zero-Three there. 

“Do you have something to do, trooper?” Hordwing snapped. 

Coming up to the pair properly, Zero-Zero-Three gave the two Lords the exact same bow he always gave to his own Lord. Bending at the waist to the appropriate depth. Holding it for the appropriate length. Then straitening. “Lord, Hordwing, I am Captain Zero-Zero-Three, the Territory Captain in charge of this world.”

“Hode’s favorite.” Hordwing looked him up and down.

Zero-Zero-Three felt a little shock run through him as being called Hode’s ‘favorite’. That couldn’t have been true. If he really was his Lord’s favorite, why had he left him here? Why hadn’t he kept his by his side? And where was Lord Hode anyway? No one had yet offered an explanation for his absence. Which left Zero-Zero-Three’s mind to wander, and his mind could wander to some bleak places. 

Whatever Hordwing saw from his once-over examination, he did not seem impressed. “This is the one? He doesn’t look dangerous.”

Resisting the urge to fidget like a newly hatched clone, Zero-Zero-Three felt insulted. He was a soldier made from the template of the most powerful being in the universe. Trained in combat and military craft since before he could form conscious thought. He was a machine for conquest through violence. He was dangerous. He was exactly as dangerous as any of his brothers. Exactly as dangerous as Hordwing was. 

Hordwing offered him a second glance. “You’re thinner than the average trooper. Did you used to be a pilot before the Old Ghoul banished you here?”

Over average, batwing pilots tended to be a bit leaner and less muscular than the average clone trooper. Their jobs did not make the same demands on their bodies, and so they received different physical training. Now Zero-Zero-Three looked Hordwing over. 

He was wearing the zero-suit of a pilot, all black with the winged emblem of the Horde emblazoned on the chest. But, like all officers of consequence, he had augmented the look to suit his own tastes. The red wind raising up to the shoulders and turning into stripes that traveled all the way down the arms to the tips of the fingers of his gloves. Hordwing was slight of build compared to Red Hord. He kept up his pilot’s physique even as a cabinet Lord. But he was still thicker and more muscles than Zero-Zero-Three. 

Perhaps Hode was right. Perhaps he should alter his uniform and armor to conceal his falling body mass. 

“I am unaccustomed to the duties of a Territory Captain.” He answered honestly. He did not know how to hold a planet. “I find that I sometimes forget my standard ration intake while trying to complete them.”

“So, you’re thoughtless and irresponsible.” Concluded the Lord. 

This time Zero-Zero-Three definitely, definitely was insulted. 

Hordwing grabbed Red Hord by the arm and brushed past the other clone. “Prime will be expecting up for dinner and he’ll want me showered and dressed.”

Glancing back at Zero-Zero-Three, Red Hord offered him an almost sympathetic smile. “Our Brother does not eat ration bars. You might want to prepare your stomach for unprocessed foods.”

…

Zero-Zero-Three was glad for the warning. 

He had no idea how one ‘prepared their stomach’ to eat food it was unaccustomed to, but at least he wasn’t surprised when an alien server –not one of his own, a servant from the Velvet Glove- placed a cut of unseasoned poultry and steamed green vegetables in front of him. 

Looking up at those seated around the table, Zero-Zero-Three felt so out of place. The Emperor of the Known Universe seated at the head of the table. Lord Hordren, administrator of the Fourth Division seated at his right hand. Next to Hordren was Hordwing, administrator of the First Division. Then Red Hord, administrator of the Second Division. The most powerful beings in the universe (minus Hode, whom no one had yet said why he was absent) seated at one table together. What was a humble Captain like Zero-Zero-Three doing here?

No one started eating until Horde Prime took his first bite, and it was noted that Prime’s meat was dripping with sauce and seasoned with herbs. He, it seemed, was not overpowered by flavor in his food. But then, he was a perfect being. Perhaps perfect beings were just unbothered in general. 

The cabinet Lords all nibbled at their own plates and –to spite the lack of seasoning- did not appear to be enjoying their meals as much as Prime was enjoying his. 

Was Prime enjoying his? His expression remained neutral. Unreadable. Passive. Almost apathetic. As if he didn’t even care that his kitchen staff that he brought with him off his ship went out of their way to tailor the plates of the Emperor and each of his Lords, and his guest to their pallets. 

Cutting himself a conservatively sized bite, Zero-Zero-Three brought the meat to his mouth and chewed on it slowly. The texture was not unpleasant. The flesh was tender, but juicy. Cooked enough to be done all the way through, but not overcooked so as to be dry. It was very well prepared. That was not the problem. The problem was the flavor. Too much flavor. Even unseasoned, the meat of the bird had a taste all its own that was much, much stronger than what Zero-Zero-Three was used to. Than the negative-flavor of the ration bars issued by the Horde military commissary. Zero-Zero-Three was not used to it, and he quickly decided that he did not like it. He wondered if it would insult Prime if he didn’t eat the rest of it. One bite was more than enough for him.

“How does it compare?” Asked Prime from over his own plate. 

“It is not what I’m used to.” Zero-Zero-Three answered honestly. 

The Emperor seemed unsurprised. The vast majority of his clones preferred the processed rations he manufactured for them over real cooking made from fresh ingredients. 

“And being a Territory Captain instead of a Force Captain, how does that compare?” Prime continued. 

Zero-Zero-Three frowned, not sure what kind of answer his Emperor wanted. “It is very different.” He finally decided was both true, but also a neutral enough answer to not offend anyone at the table. “Half as active and half as exciting than being a Force Captain, but somehow twice as stressful.”

There was a beat of silence. 

Then Prime’s mouth cracked into a facsimile of a smile. Not quite a true-smile, but something adjacent to one. It was the first actual expression he’d seen the Emperor make. Setting his form down, he rapped his steel-tipped talons on the tablecloth. “That’s a clever way to describe it. I did not know you were clever, Captain.”

Zero-Zero-Three flushed. Ears darkening a deeper shade of blue, face feeling warm. The Emperor of the Known Universe, his genetic template, his Brother thought he was clever. 

“What you have done on this world and with the shipping docks was also quite clever.” Prime continued. “Appealing to local values to keep them in line. It’s something Hode would have done.” It was the first time anyone had mentioned Lord Hode by name since the party arrived, and Zero-Zero-Three couldn’t help but notice that it was said in past tense. “I wonder, are you actually clever, or are you just copying his strategies?”

“Your Grace?” He asked, unsure how to answer that question. 

“I remember you.” Horde Prime informed him. “You jumped to defend Hode at Horrin’s trial. You insulted your Lord in front of his Emperor by presuming he needed defending. Yet, Hode still favored you for many years. Why?”

“Well, I-“ Zero-Zero-Three had no idea. He had no idea why Hode seemed to show a special interest in him over his other Force Captains, and he had no idea when Prime wanted from this line of questions. It was almost like her were… looking for something. But Zero-Zero-Three couldn’t imagine what. He was just a clone, as unremarkable as any of his brothers. Unless… unless Prime somehow had heard about his defects and had come to investigate the flaw himself. To keep the cloning factory and crèches from repeating the same mistake. Zero-Zero-Three swallowed a lump of nerves. “I always thought it was because I was good at my job.”

“No other reason?” Prime pressed. 

The three cabinet Lords all sat, straight backed in their chairs. Almost tense. Nervous. 

Prime was definitely fishing for something. 

“I don’t know!” Zero-Zero-Three blurted out. All of his insecurities and resentment of being left behind on this world bubbling to the surface and trembling out as a quiver in his voice. “I don’t know why Hode left me here. I was a good soldier, and I was a good officer. I took my orders, I fulfilled my missions, I brought back victory. I served the Empire. I was ready to die for the Empire. But then he left me here. Dumped me far away from him without an explanation.”

Leaning back in his chair, Prime steepled his fingers and regarded Zero-zero-Three from across the table. “Hode did not confide in you.”

Blinking, the clone realized how ridiculous he must have sounded. Lord Hode was a member of the Emperor’s cabinet. Why would he share the inner workings of his mind, his deeper thoughts, or motivations with a Force Captain that could die on any mission. Or worse, he captured and interrogated. 

Lowering his eyes, Zero-Zero-Three muttered, “Lord Hode kept his own mind, Your Grace.”

“You don’t know about Hode.” Continued Prime. 

With his eyes down, Zero-Zero-Three couldn’t see it, but the three cabinet Lords all exchanged glances. 

“No, Your Grace, I guess I don’t.” Admitted Zero-Zero-Three. “I don’t even know why he’s not here with you right now, when the other Lords are.”

This time, Zero-Zero-Three was looking up and did see the glances the three Lords gave each other. But he had no idea what they might mean. Just something significant. 

“Lord Hode is dead.” Emperor Prime informed flatly, without fanfare. Not an announcement, just a statement of fact. “He was the oldest clone to live on record and he expired from age. His cabinet seat is empty, and I am without someone to oversee the Third Division.”

Mouth hanging open, staring at Horde Prime, Zero-Zero-Three just gaped.

“Zero-Zero-Three, Force Captain and Territory Captain, will you serve me as faithfully and diligently as you served your Lord?”

It was all Zero-Zero-Three could do to stammer out gibberish. The moment was so surreal. In the space of a heart beat he’d learned that Lord Hode was dead, then was being offered his late Lord’s seat on the cabinet. This had to be a dream. This could not be real. Between his cloning defects and the dangerous life of a Horde soldier, Zero-Zero-Three never believed he might live long enough to even fantasize about a cabinet seat. 

“Do not make me repeat the question.” Prime warned. “Perhaps you are not as clever as I originally thought.”

“Yes!” He finally got out. “I mean. I will serve you even more diligently, Your Grace.” He offered a salute. “It would be my privilege.”

As he said it, Zero-Zero-Three couldn’t help but remember what Hode told him at their parting. ‘Preform your duties here well, and you just might find yourself elevated above a Force Captain.’ The only rank above Force Captain was cabinet Lord. He knew. Somehow, and Zero-Zero-Three had no idea how, but Hode knew this would happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna lie, since the trailer for season 4 was released yesterday, I am now in a rush to get this fic finished before November.


	18. Interpersonal Relationship Algorithm

“…of course I haven’t been able to translate any of it.” Entrapta was saying. Speaking a mile a minute as she flitted around the control room. She pointed to the many consoles and terminals as she spoke, occasionally lifting her hair to indicate the main display screen –which was still deactivated. “But this is the most well preserved First Ones settlement I’ve ever seen! A complete structure, fully intact, and the technology untouched!”

She cackled happily, arms and hair being thrown up in the air with maniacal glee. 

Scorpia offered a gentle smile. She didn’t quite understand everything her friend said, in fact, it had a similar feel to when she was talking about the Runestone network, or portal destabilization. Lots of fast words and high excitement. But Scorpia missed a great deal of what was supposed to be important. She was just happy her friend was happy. 

“The whole building functions like one big machine!” She continued, speaking to no one in particular, as if she still had her recorder and was logging notes. “As an amplifier of some kind. The interesting detail is that I can’t decide what it’s meant to amplify. A cursory exploration of the compound indicates that it might actually go deeper than the two accessible basement levels. This would imply that it might connect with the network of Runestones that maintain Etheria’s equilibrium. If that is the case, then it might amplify the magic of the Runestone network.” 

She cackled again. 

Running up to Scorpia, Entrapta took the other woman’s hand in her hair and spun them both around the room happily. “Isn’t this exciting!” She exclaimed. “If the First Ones built this place to boost the overall power of the Runestone network, then that means the Runestones were meant to do more than just regulate the planet’s ecosystems and seasons. But what more!? That’s the mystery. I have no idea. Isn’t it exciting!?”

Entrapta would find unsolvable mysteries left behind by dead races exciting. The thing was, she was actually remarkably good at solving said unsolvable mysteries. She spent her whole life –that Scorpia knew of- studying First Ones tech, integrated it into Horde technology, deciphered the mystery of the Runestones and used that knowledge to hack and control the planet itself, she brought First Ones power to the generators of the Fright Zone, and cut a portal through the very fabric of reality. If anyone was going to unravel the mystery of why the First Ones might want to amplify the power of the Runestone network, it would be Princess Entrapta of Dryl. 

But it was the ‘of Dryl’ part of her title that concerned Scorpia at the moment. 

When she left to come and rescue Entrapta, she left someone behind in Dryl. A young child –younger than their physical age- whom Entrapta created. Entrapta’s child. Scorpia wasn’t sure of the scientist even knew the experiment lived or not. But she promised Baker, Soda Pop, and Bus Girl she’d bring their Lady back to them. She promised young Hordak Second of Their Name that she’d bring their mother back to them. 

“Can you study this from home?” She asked. Then realized Entrapta might not know what place she was referring to when she said ‘home’. The Fright Zone? Dryl? Scorpia’s home? Entrapta’s home? What was ‘home’? “From your lab in Dryl? Can you study this from Dryl?”

“Well, it’d be difficult…” She tapped her chin with her hair in thought. “Inefficient and slow… why can’t I just study this place from right here? This is where it is, after all.”

“Yeah, but, don’t you wanna go home?” Scorpia pressed. 

Entrapta did pause in her frenzied slitting around the room. 

Lowering herself down from where she had been examining the connection cables between the main monitor and the First Ones consoles, she pillowed her hair under her. She did want to go home. Before. When she was trapped in a filthy cell that was tiny, contained nothing to hold her interest, was being slowly starved, and stank of her own organic waste. She missed her lab then. She wanted to go home then.

But things were better now. She was out. And she had this whole, and complete First Ones outpost to study. Why would she want to leave? 

Besides, the island was pretty insulated. Part of the world, yes, but also remote, isolated, and apart from it. If she stayed on Beast Island, she wouldn’t have to face the rest of the world beyond its shores. She wouldn’t have to learn the conclusions to certain hypothesis about certain people she knew.

“Not really.” Entrapta shook her head, then lowered her welding mask over her face. 

She moved back across the room, pushing a rolling chair out of the way, to bend down and examine the inner workings of a console. This was safe. This was easy. There was a kind of sterile safety in machines and technology. Machines and technology rarely betrayed you. If they did, it was a fault in their programming that could easily be fixed, a line of code that just needed to be trouble-shot. If a person betrayed you… if a person shocked you in the back and sent you to a gulag… if a person had the power to bring you back with a word, but left you to rot there instead… or if a person went back to their brother without ever saying ‘good-bye’ and had no idea what happened to you… Entrapta didn’t know how to trouble-shoot those kinds of betrayals. 

But… still…

As much as she didn’t actually want to know, and she knew she did not want to know, Entrapta had to ask. “What happened to Catra?”

“I don’t know.” Scorpia admitted. 

“And-“ she hesitated, she was more nervous about asking about her lab partner than she was about her ex-friend. “-and, Hordak…?”

Now it was Scorpia’s turn to hesitate. She drew in a long breath. She never presumed to understand the relationship between Entrapta and the leader of the Horde. But she did know that it was more than simple colleagues and friends. Entrapta created a child from her own DNA combined with Hordak’s. For all intents and purposes, they had a child together. That meant something. Scorpia didn’t know what –exactly. But something. They were significant to each other. Maybe not ‘lovers’ in the traditional sense of the word, but more like ‘mates’ in the practical application of the term. They had an offspring together. 

“Lonnie and her team were in charge of clearing out the lab after the portal blew.” She began, unsure of how exactly she should phrase things. “She told me- Entrapta, I’m so sorry –but she told me that Hordak is gone.”

Sliding out from under the console, Entrapta sat up on her hair and lifted her welding mask. The expression of hope on her face was not what Scorpia was expecting to see. 

“Gone?” She repeated. “Like, ‘gone home’?”

Without her. Without saying good-bye to her. She should feel sad, but… it was just a relief to hear that he was still alive at all. He hadn’t abandoned her on Beast Island because he was mad at her, or hated her. He left her on Beast Island because he didn’t know. Because he wasn’t here anyone. He went home. Like he always wanted. She hoped he was happy. Entrapta wanted Hordak to be happy. 

Scorpia paused, suddenly unsure. As far as she had always known, the Fright Zone was Hordak’s home. She didn’t think he had any other. 

But that wasn’t what Lonnie said. 

Scorpia shook her head. “No. The other kind of gone. Lonnie told me that Lord Hordak is dead.”

For half a second, Scorpia had to wonder if Entrpata even heard her. The older woman just sort of froze. Sitting on her hair, staring at Scorpia. 

An odd kind of silence dragged between them. Like the non-existent sound of a computer loading screen. Entrapta’s mile-a-minute mind needing to take extra time to process what she’d just been told. 

Then.

Her shoulders began to shake. 

Entrapta lifted up a tendril of hair to lower her welding mask back over her face, but the hair was trembling so bad it couldn’t connect with the metal visor. Tears welled up in her eyes. 

“That can’t be right.” She muttered, more to the room as a whole than to Scorpia. “Hordak couldn’t…”

Except that he very easily could be dead. 

He was frail. He was ill. He had a degenerative medical condition that made him weak and gave him fainting spells. Yes, the exoskeleton she made for him compensated for these handicaps. Enables him to continue to function and live as he desired. But the exo-suit was not a cure. Under the armor, he would still be sick and frail. He could still die. He could still be killed. 

A battle with an enemy. The portal explosion. Falling debris fleeing the lab. 

Any number of things could have killed Hordak. 

And easily too. He was not as strong as he liked to appear. 

Entrapta’s vision blurred and she reached her gloved hands up to wipe away the tears. 

It was like when Micah suggested he might be dead, only worse. Back then, she recognized the real and tangible possibility that her lab partner might be dead. But Micah didn’t know him. She didn’t know if Micah ever met Hordak, like, back during the first Rebellion or whatever, but she did know that Micah didn’t know anything about him. Not like she knew him. All Micah suggested was a hypothesis.

A hypothesis she could easily deny. 

But this time- from Scorpia- who heard it from the one that cleaned up the sanctum- Entrapta felt the truth of it in her bones. Hordak, her lab partner, a person whom she felt more strongly for than the rest of her friends, was… gone. Not gone like ‘gone home’, the other kind of gone. The permanent kind of gone. Dead, gone. 

She didn’t realize her eyes were closed until she felt Scorpia’s arms wrap around her again. Her wet face resting on that hard scorpion exoskeleton. 

“Hey, hey, it’ll be okay.” Scorpia muttered into her hair. 

That was about the moment Micah walked in. He paused when he saw Entrapta crying in Scorpia’s arms. “I miss something?”

Lifting her head, Entrapta blinked dripping eyes. “My- my lab partner-“

It took the sorcerer a moment to realize what had just happened. He remembered her telling him about her beloved lab partner. The one with health problems that the Horde left for dead once before. Her young man that, when Micah asked if he had been killed, she instead of admitting that she didn’t know, started throwing out unconfirmable denials that he just went away somewhere else and didn’t know she was on Beast Island. It took Micah a moment to realize, but when he did, his expression melted into nothing but sympathy. 

“Oh, Princess, I’m so sorry.” He tried to assure her. “I wish I’d gotten to meet him. He sounded like a very fine fellow.”

At that comment, it was Scorpia’s turn to lift her head and blink at him. But she did not offer a comment. But it was just so weird hearing –anyone- but especially a former rebel leader describe Hordak as a ‘very fine fellow’. King Micah must not have any idea who her ‘lab partner’ really was. 

Entrapta pushed away from the other woman. “Why’d you have to tell me!?” She demanded, her mood taking a swing into anger –which was supposed to be a normal stage of grief, she was told. “If I didn’t know I could have just kept working on my own projects by myself and believing he went home!”

“But- you asked…” Scorpia was so confused. 

“I didn’t actually want to know!” Entrapta snapped her welding mask down over her face. 

This was just- this was too much. She could not deal with this. Using her hair, she leapt from one end of the room to the other, placing as much distance between herself and Scorpia and Micah as she could. Crouching down, she began fiddling with another First Ones console. Trying to get it to power up. 

Scorpia just stood there, staring. Entrapta had always wanted nothing but the truth before. And Scorpia was pretty sure she would have been more upset if she had lied to her and told her Hordak was fine, only to have her learn some other way later that he was gone. Scorpia wanted her to hear it from a friend –and Entrapta had recently announced that Scorpia was her best friend. 

She felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see King Micah, his expression gentle and sympathetic. “Everyone reacts to loss differently. She needs to grieve in her own way. She’s not actually mad at you.”

“How do you know?” Asked Scorpia, turning to face him. “You’ve known her, what, like two weeks?”

Micah offered her a rueful grin. “In truth, I don’t know Princess Entrapta at all. I don’t think we really connected all that well during our time together. “But I know people. She’s a little… she’s not like most, but she’s still a person. She’s going to need time to process. Time to come to terms with her loss and her feelings about it.” A pause. “Did you know him?”

Sort of. He was her boss. They were not close. “Kinda…”

“It might help to have someone who also knew him to commiserate with.” He suggested. “Share stories and fond memories. Remind her of the good times to distract her from the bad.”

Scorpia opened her mouth to disagree. Her experiences with Lord Hordak were vastly different from Entrapta’s experiences with Lord Hordak. But King Micah of Brightmoon did not know that, neither did he need to know that. All that came out was a noncommittal croak of dismay. 

“I’ll see if I can find some fizzy drinks in the Mess.” He added, moving to leave the control room. “Indulging in favored drinks and foods does help.”

He left. 

Looking across the room, Scorpia wondered if she should go over and talk to Entrapta, or give the other woman her space. She decided to compromise. Halfway through the room, Scorpia sat on one of the consoles. It felt oddly like the last time they spent time together. Entrapta punching away at a computer keyboard, Scorpia sitting on some piece of lab equipment that was not meant to be sat on, talking about their feelings. Except this time, it wasn’t venting about frustration with difficult friends, and it wasn’t frantic double checking of a volatile experiment. 

“I can’t say I know how you feel.” Scorpia announced honestly. “I’ve never really had a serious relationship before. The last woman I liked turned out to be… well, Catra. And –as it turned out- she and I weren’t actually as close as I thought we were. We weren’t as close as you and Hordak turned out to be.” That, and Catra wasn’t dead (she didn’t think), just missing in action. “I don’t even remember when my moms died. Not really. Like, I sorta remember when it happened. But, I don’t remember how it felt. I don’t remember the feelings. Just that it happened.”

She looked across the room to Entrapta to see if this admission had any effect on her. 

The other woman’s shoulders slumped. 

Her welding mask was still down, in front of her face. Scorpia saw one round eye-lens glowing fuchsia in her profile. 

“I don’t think I felt anything when my predecessor passed away.” She finally admitted. “She… never approved of me showing much emotion. She used to get so mad when I would cry. By the time she died- I guess I was used to- just… not.”

“Oh.” Scorpia didn’t know that. Of course, no one in the Horde ever talked about their parents. The vast majority of people in the Horde didn’t have parents, so Scorpia never thought to ask, and Entrapta never volunteered it before. It wasn’t like parental passing was particularly relevant to what they were working on at any given time. Then she raised an eyebrow. “You call your mom ‘predecessor’?”

Entrapta shrugged. “It’s accurate. She never liked being called ‘mother’. She thought it undervalued her position of ruler. When she was alive I called her ‘my Queen’ or ‘Your Grace’.”

“Wow.” Scorpia blinked. “That’s pretty… wow.”

Her back still to Scorpia, shoulders slumping slightly, hair drooping, Entrapta went on to say, “That’s one of the reasons why really felt for Hordak. He might view Horde Prime as his ‘big brother’ not his father, but he was still a parent figure in his life. A parent figure that he desperately wants –wanted- to impress and make proud, but who –at least from the sound of it- was never satisfied.” 

Scorpia opened her mouth to reply, then realized she had no idea what Entrapta was talking about. Who was this ‘Horde Prime’ guy? Lord Hordak had a brother? Lord Hordak had an inferiority complex? You wouldn’t know it from standing in on any given meeting in the throne room. He always seemed so powerful and imposing. Scorpia couldn’t even imagine someone ‘bigger’ or ‘scarier’ than Hordak that he wanted to impress and live up to. 

“I guess you two got really close working so long in the Sanctum together.” She finally said instead. Obviously, they got close. Entrapta made a child from him. So… that was a thing. 

“I don’t know.” Entrapta admitted, welding mask still down over her face. “I stopped inputting data in my interpersonal relationship algorithm by that point. When I was around him I just didn’t think about it. I’ve never had a relationship like that before. And then when he told me about his Brother I just- wanted to help him…” Finally, she turned back to face Scorpia, and lifted her welding mask. Her eyes were dry, but red. She had been crying. “I was building a new body for him when you and Catra came back with Adora and the sword. A healthy body. So he could go back to his Brother without having to worry about his defects.”

A new body? Was that what little Dak was supposed to be. Not their child, but just a spare case to house Lord Hordak’ brain. (Or mind. Or soul. Or whatever.) The idea disappointed Scorpia more than she expected it to. She had only known little Dak for a few days before she left them in Dryl. Most of that time, the little hybrid spent crying loudly, babbling non-sense, and pooping themself. Scorpia had to teach them how to speak, and use a toilet, and hold a fork to feed themself. But affection was a natural byproduct of care-giving, and Scorpia couldn’t help but for an attachment to the pseudo-clone. The idea that their mother –or, at least, the person she had decided was Dak’s ‘mother’ in her mind- didn’t view them as anything more than a custom made exchangeable part broke her heart a little.

“Listen, about that body you were making…” Scorpia began. 

But then Micah walked back into the room and Scorpia promptly shut up. King Micah of Brightmoon, leader of the First Rebellion was blissfully ignorant of the fact that the Princess he’d been working with worked for the Horde, and the Princess to care to rescue her was a Horde Force Captain. There was no need for him to know that the person they were mourning was Lord Hordak, leader of the Evil Horde. Or that Entrapta tried to make a new clone body for him that –supposedly- would have made him stronger and more formidable than before. 

Scorpia was friendly and talkative. She was not an idiot. 

“They actually did had a carbon pressure fizzer in the Mess.” He announced, coming in with a tray holding a bottle and two empty glasses. “This is just sparkling water, but its fizzy. They only had regular sized cupcakes, I’m afraid.” 

Standing from the console she was sitting on, Scorpia took the tray from him. “Thanks.” She offered a friendly smile. “Uh, we were kinda about to make a breakthrough. I don’t wanna be rude, but could you give us, like, five more minutes or something? Please.”

“Oh.” Micah paused. He looked across the room to Entrapta. Her eyes were red and puffy. She’d definitely been crying. But her cheeks were dry. Her best friend really was helping her much more than he could. Maybe he could go back and talk to Sea Hawk. He assumed the pirate from Salineas was going to be their ride off the island. As the younger man announced forlornly while under the influence of a truth spell, he was everyone’s ride. “I’ll just leave you two alone then.”

Scorpia waited until the doors had shut behind Micah to open the bottle of sparkling water and pore two glasses for herself and Entrapta. Crossing the space between them, she offered one grass to the other woman. 

Reaching with her hair, Entrapta pulled a rolling chair over to her and sat down. 

“You know, it’s strange.” Entrapta began, speaking between slurps of the bendy straw Micah was thoughtful enough to include. “Even with all the data I entered in my interpersonal relationship algorithm, the data just showed you as an average friend. But then, it showed Catra as my best friend and, well- we both know what happened. I guess I didn’t program it right. You’re the only one of all of my ‘friends’ who ever came to rescue me. And here you are trying to console me.”

She leaned back in her chair, putting her feet up on a console and selected a regular sized cupcake from the tray. Entrapta made a face of displeasure at it. She really, really, really preferred tiny food. But, if nothing else, her time on Beast Island did teach her to appreciate decent food even if it wasn’t tiny. Goodness knew, what the guards gave her in her cell was usually ‘food’ in name only. 

“I guess that’s the thing about friendship.” Scorpia nodded. “Friendship is measured in actions, but actions are motivated by feelings. Catra is very good at acting like she cares about you. But… all those affectionate actions and smiles aren’t actually motivated by feelings of friendship.” 

“I will never understand people or their motivations.” Entrapta admitted, speaking more to the frosting of her cupcake than to Scorpia. “Science tells us that organisms are motivated by the base needs of food, water, shelter, and the desire to mate. But none of the people I know personally seem to care about those things. At least, not in proportion to how important they are to an organism’s survival. You know Adora didn’t even serve snacks at the strategy meeting where we tried to plan Glimmer and Bow’s rescue. And I didn’t see Hordak ever hydrate as much water as I think a being in his condition should.”

“People are more complicated than a basic organism.” Scorpia mumbled. 

But then, Entrapta already admitted that she would never understand people. Not from lack of trying, just from a lack of ability to connect. Entrapta tried very hard. She observed, and studied, and tried to learn. But she could only reach so far. She needed people –not everyone, just the people in her life- to reach back and meet her half way. 

“But, um…” Scorpia began, suddenly feeling inexplicably awkward. “Swinging back to that whole, ‘organisms are motivated by mating’ thing. That body you were building for Hordak… was that the one you mixed your own DNA into…?”

Entrapta nodded. “To fill in and replace the corrupted lines of code in his DNA, yeah. That’s all DNA is, really. Just lines of code, no different than a computer program. If I line of code becomes corrupted, you just go in and rewrite it. Easy fix.” There was another forlorn pause as she remembered that Hordak was dead. “I wish I could see him one more time…”

Then she forced a shrug, lifting the regular sized cupcake to her mouth, Entrapta braced herself for the unpleasant tactile sensation of frosting and crumbs all over her face. There was a reason she preferred tiny food. 

But she didn’t get the chance to bite into it. 

Because, at that exact moment, the ceiling above them cracked, then broke open as someone burst through. 

“Entrapta! I’m here to rescue you!” Shouted She-Ra, in all her golden, glowing glory. 

…

“There it is! Down there!” Adora pointed at the only structure on the island that looked man-made. 

A large complex close to the shore, with an attached harbor. It was big, obvious, and hard to miss. There was no need for her to point it out as if she was the only one who saw it. 

“Swift Wind, drop me off on the roof.” She commanded. 

“Wait, how are you going to get through the roof-?” Bow began to ask. 

But his concerns were cut off by her shouting, “For the Honor of Grayskull!”

There was a flash of light and they felt her weight leave the horse. Then She-Ra was in freefall. Plummeting down through the otherwise empty air. Sword extended in front of her to break through the roof below. 

Leaning precarious far over Swift Wind’s side, Dak peered down at the legendary warrior princess. “Since she was the one making a plan, I thought the plan would be better.”

Heaving a sigh, the only thing Bow could do was shrug. “This is about as good as most of our plans.”

Perched on Dak’s shoulder, Imp squawked something with a bit of a tone. Ruffling his wings and crossing his tiny deamon arms in contempt.

“Reluctantly, I agree.” Swift Wind sighed, disappointed in himself for actually sharing an opinion with Hordak’s minion. “It really is a wonder how they managed to beat the Horde at all.”

Dak glanced from Imp to the horse, then back at Bow. “These bad plans of yours, they actually… work?”

Bow heaved another sigh. “Amazingly, yeah. Actually. They do.”

The hybrid nodded, as if coming to a decision. “Okay.” 

Then jumped off Swift Wind after Adora. 

“Wait! No! Don’t-!” Bow shouted after the young clone. 

Imp’s suddenly hysterical screeching echoed the archer’s sentiment. The little deamon fluttered his wings and dove down after master’s heir. 

Swift Wind tried to turn his head to look at Bow. “You gonna jump too?” He asked. “Everybody’s doing it.”

Bow only groaned. 

Then leapt down too. 

Putting the sword in front of her, She-Ra made a rough landing on the roof, cracking the not-quite-concrete construction. It took two more smashes, but between the sword’s magic and She-Ra’s own brute force, she was able to break through the roof and burst into the building. 

She wasn’t quire sure what kind of room she’d just entered. It was the top of the prison, so the expected some kind of command center, or office. 

It was dimly lit. 

But Entrapta was there. She’d recognize that mass of thick lilac hair anywhere. “Entrapta!” She shouted. “I’m here to rescue you! I left you behind in the Fright Zone, I’m not doing that’s again!”

“Oh.” Still sitting in her chair, holding a cupcake in her hand, and her drink in her hair, Entrapta just stared wide-eyed at the legendary Princess of Power. “Thank you.”

She-Ra blinked back at her. That wasn’t how people normally reacted to a rescue. 

“Scorpia already came to rescue me.” Entrapta indicated the woman sitting next to her, pointing with her hair. “But it was nice of you to come too.” She glanced at the regular sized cupcake in her hand. “Snack?”

She-Ra just stared at the offered treat, not understanding what was happening here. 

Then another body fell on her. The two collapsing on each other in a disorderly heap of glowing eight-foot tall Princess, and thick mohawk of blue hair that moved and thrashed as if it were an arm or a leg. Then Bow fell on them, adding even more limbs to the tangle. 

With some unnecessary expletives, the tangle of limbs and hair eventually straightened itself out to once again be the three separate bodies of Bow, She-Ra, and… 

“Hi. I’m Hordak.”

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 


	19. Many Meetings

“Hi. I’m Hordak.” 

Entrapta blinked at the child that had fallen in with Adora and Bow. It looked like it might have been the clone she was making for Hordak. Bioluminescent eyes, pointy-ears, sharp fangs, and taloned fingers. Except she set the timer on the cloning tank to let the subject out once it reached full maturity –physical adulthood- and this was most definitely a child. Resembling a physical age of only ten years. This was not the intended result of the experiment. She stared at the small Hordak, at a bit of a loss as to how to proceed. 

“Unbelievable!” Scorpia was shouting at Adora and Bow. “Dak is a baby! How could you bring them here? Don’t you know Beast Island is dangerous? I thought you were the good guys!”

Adora and Bow just stared at her. Not quite sure how to reply to that. In their own experience with the hybrid, Dak was more like Frosta. Yeah, they looked young and child-like. But were intelligent –if a little inexperienced- and had powers of their own, and were perfectly capable of handling themself in a fight. Dak might be a child, but they weren’t a helpless child. 

Dak, for their part, jumped on Scorpia happily. Wrapping both their arms and their hair around her. “Sc’pya!” A pause. “I mean ‘Scorpia’. I can speak right, now.”

Scorpia had to do some quick fumbling to get her arms under the child to support them in their catapult hug. The former-Force Captain looked markedly less intimidating with a small child hanging off her. 

“I did have some concerns.” Bow admitted.

“Dak wanted to come with us.” Adora reminded everyone in the room. “They orchestrated our escape from Dryl.”

Entrapta, whom had done nothing but stare at the hybrid since they fell through the ceiling, opened her mouth to speak. 

But was cut off when the command room door burst open.

Micah, Sea Hawk, J’Milla, Korg, and Tondy all burst into the room at the same time. Weapons drawn. Spears and sword in hand in the case of the Jungle Tribe and Sea Hawk. Magic at the ready in the case of Micah. 

“We heard a crash!” Announced Micah. 

“Is it another Beast attack?” Demanded J’Milla. 

“Intruders!” Observed Korg. 

“More Horde!” Assumed Tondy. He charged at Bow, the closes one to him. Spear thrusting out with the practiced motion of one who had ever swung the weapon in a training circle, never in active combat. 

Bow dodged the lunge easily enough. 

But, seeing one of their friends being attacked triggered something primal in Dak. With an almost feral growl, they leapt out of Scorpia’s arms and pounced on the other child. 

They looked identical in age and were almost the same in height. But Dak was used to tracking and following prey, not subduing something that fought back. Tondy was warrior trained and knew how to defend himself, but had never encountered a creature like Dak before. Something that stood erect like a person, but had the fangs and talons of a beast, and hair that moved like a tail. The two children tangled together to the accompanied sounds of animalistic snarling, and Jungle Tribe curses.

Imp screeched at the tussling pair. This was why he wanted master’s heir to train with the other Horde soldiers at Dryl. So that they would know how to handle themselves in a fight!

“Dak, no!” Bow shouted and jumped in to try and pull the hybrid out of the tussle. 

J’Milla also rushed forward to rescue his own child from the fray. “What manner of creature is that!?”

“Not a creature.” Dak muttered, now with both Bow’s strong arms wrapped around their mid-section, holding them back. 

The Jungle Tribe trio just looked between each other. The creature spoke! 

Fluttering down from the air, Imp settled on Bow’s shoulder to inspect Dak and make sure master’s heir was uninjured. 

Sea Hawk and King Micah just stood there, starring gape-mouthed at the hybrid child. 

“Um…” Began the sea captain. “Are my eyes mistaken? Or does that kid look kinda a lot like-“

“That is Hordak’s child!” Micah all but shouted. Eyes wide with horror. Mouth pursing shut in a thin line of disgust. He didn’t know which idea horrified him more: the thought that the vile leader of the Evil Horde had forced himself on a partner to produce said offspring, or a partner had willingly chosen to produce a child with the monstrous, despotic, colonizing dictator of the Evil Horde. If he were frowning any harder, the corners of Micah’s mouth would have been hanging off his chin. 

There was a beat of silence. 

Then, “What?” Entrapta blinked. “No, it’s not.” It was Hordak’s clone. 

“I’m Hordak!” Dak snapped, glaring at Micah. For some reason, they took an instant dislike to the older man. Perhaps because Micah was radiating nothing but abject horror at the idea of the hybrid’s very existence. 

“What?” The sorcerer was momentarily confused. “No, you’re not. I’ve met Hordak. He’s…” Micah hesitated, trying to think of a way to describe the shadow-lurking, imperialist, despot that was age-appropriate for the children in the room “…tall.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong. 

When Adora was transformed, She-ra was eight feet tall and on an eye-level with Hordak. Discounting legendary, magical, prophesized, sword maidens; Hordak was probably one of the tallest beings on the planet. Meanwhile, Dak was about average for a child at their level of physical development. 

Sea Hawk cleared his throat. “Uh, Bow, what are you and She-Ra doing with a kid that’s claiming to be Hordak and looks enough like him that it might actually be true?”

Not that the sea captain actually believed his pre-adolescent who barely came up to his first rib actually was Hordak. But absurd things did seem to just sort of happen around She-Ra, so he wasn’t going to dismiss the possibility outright, just strongly doubt the probability. He as sure there was a much more rational explanation. 

“Wait, did you say ‘She-Ra’!?” Asked Korg.

“She-ra?” Echoed King Micah. He’d heard the legends of the Hero and Savior She-Ra. 

The sorcerer and all three members of the Jungle Tribe looked from Sea Hawk to the tall, glowing, golden haired, white-clad, sword carrying, amazon next to Bow. Now they were staring gape-mouthed for an entirely different reason. 

“Huh, ya know, I think this is the first time anyone’s even noticed She-Ra second and the other weird thing first.” She commented. 

“Little Dak kinda stole the show.” Bow smiled, still holding the hybrid in what could only be described as a ‘restraining hug’. 

Adora turned her attention to Sea Hawk and the rest of the new arrivals. “Yeah, I’m She-Ra, and- Holy Hell! You’re King Micah!” 

Now it was her turn to gape as she recognized Glimmer’s dad. He looked almost exactly she same as when she saw him in the alternate reality created by the portal. Maybe not quite as ‘polished’. He needed a hairbrush and a shave. Maybe some new cloths while they were at it. But it was definitely, definitely him. He was alive! Wow!

Standing next to her, still holding Dak, Bow gasped. “You’re alive!?” A pause and an eyebrow raise. “You don’t look much like your mural.”

“I have a mural?” He blinked. 

“Oh, yeah.” Nodded Sea Hawk. “It’s on one of the walls in the Birhgtmoon palace. I saw it when we all got together to plan Glimmer and Bow’s rescue from the Fright Zone.”

“Glimmer’s in the Fright Zone!?” Micah was horrified. 

“Was. Glimmer was in the Fright Zone.” Bow was quick to assure the older man that his daughter was safe. “She and I were captured by-“ a hesitant glance at Scorpia “-some Horde soldiers who violated the conflict ban at Princess Prom. But Adora –that is, She-Ra- and the Alliance staged a rescue and saved us.”

“The Alliance?” Micah asked, equal parts hopeful for a continued Princess Alliance after his absence, and relived that his daughter and only child was rescued by them and was safe. “You’re members of the Alliance.”

Scorpia cast a nervous glance at Entrapta. One of them had left the Princess Alliance and committed crimes-against-nature against the very planet itself. While the other one had never been a member of the Alliance at all. 

But Entrapta wasn’t looking at her. The other woman’s attention was fixed on the hybrid still held in Bow’s arms. Little Dak. The clone she made for Lord Hordak. All her attention was held by them. Like she wasn’t even paying attention to what everyone else was talking about. 

Micah smiled at them. Almost beaming. “Are you here to rescue me?”

Before either She-ra or Bow could answer, Dak cut them off, answering first. 

“I’m here to rescue Mother!” They announced. 

Upon hearing that, Micah experienced another stab of revolting horror. This child’s mother, the woman Hordak had… paired with to conceive his child was a prisoner on Beast Island. Hordak had exiled and imprisoned his own… um… ‘wife’ was too strong a word, ‘lover’ implied more feeling than the sorcerer believed the warlord was capable of, uh… ‘mistress’ felt disrespectful to the poor anonymous woman… The mother of his child, Micah finally decided on. Hordak had exiled and imprisoned the mother of his child. The monster was even more evil than the sorcerer originally thought! 

Now that child was old enough to come looking for Mommy, and they teamed up with their father’s enemies to save her. Micah decided he kind of respected this little creature. They might bear an uncomfortable level of resemblance to their father, but they were openly defying said father and conspiring with the Alliance. Might even be a lasting ally and force for good in Etheria in the future!

“Who’s your mother?” The sorcerer asked. “When we took the prison, I freed all the prisoners and sent them back home. Everyone’s already left now. But if you know her name or what territory she’s from, I can help you find her.”

Raising one bare and hairless brow ridge, the hybrid looked confused. They struggled out of Bow’s hold and pointed to Entrapta. Then said, in a tone that implied that Micah was stupid. “She’s standing right there.”

A little slow, Micah’s eyes followed the extended finger to Entrapta. Confusion contorting his features. Confusion and betrayal. “What!?”

He spent days traipsing across the island with this woman. They allied with the Jungle Tribe together. They liberated the prison together. He thought she was one of them. A member of the Alliance. She was a Princess for cripes sake! Was she lying to him the whole time? Manipulating him for her own nefarious ends? Using him to help her take over the prison to use its ancient First Ones tech to take revenge on her treacherous paramour? The child looked to be about ten. How old was Entrapta ten years ago? Sixteen? Seventeen? Old enough for a predator of non-existent moral fiber to take and… take. 

Micah was caught between hating the woman for lying to and manipulating him, and pitying her for how she herself must have been used and manipulated by the Villain of Etheria. 

The Princess, for her part, looked taken aback. Startled, actually. As if she herself didn’t quite understand. 

There was a beat of silence. 

“Maybe we should explain?” Suggested Bow, ever the voice of reason unconventional situations like these. “Dak, do you still have the recorder?”

Nodding, the child reached a hand into the pocket of their overalls and pulled out one of Entrapta’s recorders. 

“Ethrian-Horde Cloning Project, Day 3 -2? No, 3.” Entrapta’s nasal voice began to play. “The fetus is developed beyond what I believe to be the final stage of gestation in an average pregnancy. The clone now resembles an infant seven months out of the womb. Fascinating! At this level of rapid growth, I hypothesize that it will enter puberty by the end of the week. Full adulthood by the end of the month! Hordak will have a new body sooner than I originally projected!”

Micah looked confused. A ‘new body’? Why would the vampire-looking monster leader of the Evil Horde need a new body? Weren’t vampires supposed to be immortal? 

“Ethrian-Horde Cloning Project, Day 4. Yup, definitely Day 4. The clone is entering its pre-adolescents now. I have never been very good at guessing people’s ages, almost as bad as I am at forming connections with other people. But based purely on physical appearance, I would place the clone’s physical age at between eight to ten years. At this rate, Hordak might have his new body before the end of the month! I hope he likes it.” A longing sigh. “He’s always so concerned with perfection and success. He’s so brilliant, but he allows himself to be handicapped by frustration. He’s too focused on results and not the process. I wonder if Hordak would think differently if he wasn’t so concerned with proving himself to his Brother. It almost reminds me of myself back when my moth- back when my predecessor was alive. Striving so hard to earn the approval of someone who doesn’t see you as an individual, but an extension of themselves.” Another sigh. “I just want him to be happy.”

With a squawk to draw everyone’s attention, Imp opened his mouth to repeat the pertinent word and make sure everyone understood. 

“Clone.”

Master did not breed with the Princess. Master did not breed with anyone. Master did not breed. Full stop. 

The Jungle Tribe didn’t know what a ‘clone’ was, so they didn’t understand the significance of the distinction. 

Micah, on the other hand, just looked more confused. If the child was a clone then that meant they were made intentionally. On the recording in Entrapta’s own voice she not only admitted to creating them, but also ‘wanting Hordak to be happy’. How was that even possible? Why? What had Lord Hordak ever done to deserve happiness? 

There was another beat of silence as those that already knew Dak’s origin story waited on the reactions of the newly initiated. 

“Clearly, someone let the subject out of the tank early.” Entrapta was the first to break the silence. “The clone was supposed to have achieved full physical maturity by the time it was released. It was also supposed to remain non-conscious until after the neural-cognitive transfer could be completed. Clearly, none of those things happened. The subject is too young, and has formed its own identity apart from its originally designed purpose.” 

She had such a cold, professional, and clinical tone when explaining this. Just like little Dak were no different than any of her other experiments. 

No… that wasn’t right… Entrapta became so excited and animated when she talked about her experiments. All of her experiments. Be they robot, First Ones disc, hacking the planet, or ripping a hole open between worlds. Entrapta was animated, enthusiastic, and passionate about her experiments. The fact that she was so… composed while explaining this one was… different. 

Dak blinked at her. Even only ever hearing her voice in recordings, they noticed something was different with the tone of that explanation. “Mother…?”

Entrapta didn’t so much shrink away, but she did visibly cringe at the word. 

She cleared her throat, noticeably uncomfortable. 

“That-“ she began, unsure. “That’s not accurate. The word ‘mother’ has several definitions, but I don’t fit any of them. I did not birth the subject from my own body. Neither have I been active in raising the subject.”

Dak frowned, ears drooping. They looked visibly disappointed. Scratch that. Sad. Dak looked downright sad. “Not a ‘subject’.” They muttered. “I’m Hordak.”

The little hybrid looked so crestfallen. 

Micah’s heart dropped for them. Yeah, they might have been made from Hordak, and made for Hordak. But they were still just a child. A child who had just been rejected by their ‘mother’. 

Bow’s arms were back around Dak in moments. This time, the hug wasn’t restraining, it was comforting. “Entrapta, Dak came all the way here to rescue you.”

Now everyone was looking at Entrapta. Like they wanted something from her. Like they were expecting something from her. Like she owed them. But she never asked to be rescued, and she never meant for the clone to either ever experience ‘childhood’ or even be conscious on its own. She intended the clone to just be Hordak. Her Hordak. Not its own ‘Hordak’. 

And besides, she couldn’t be a mother. Her own mothe- Her own predecessor had not trained her in the maternal craft. She didn’t know how. The idea that that was what was now going to be expected of her made Entrapta extremely uncomfortable. 

“I’m sorry, I’m not-“ She began, unsure of the right words. “I can’t be- I-“ She snapped her welding mask down over her face. “I have to go.”

Pushing past Scorpia and between the Jungle Tribe, mask firmly in place hiding her expression, Entrapta fled the room. 

“Mother-?” Dak called after her, sounding like they might sob, but no ears fell from their glowing eyes. Instead, the hybrid closed the nictitating membrane of a second set of eyelids. 

Bow hugged them tighter. 

Scorpia crossed the space between them and wrapped her arms around both Dak and Bow. “Aw, honey, I’m sure she didn’t mean it. She’s just a little surprised. That’s all.”

Blinking their nictitating eyelids, Dak looked up at Scorpia. She took care of them, and worried about them, and raised them more than Entrapta did. By definition, Scorpia was more of a mother to Dak than the tech-Princess. “Imp was right.” They muttered into the chest plate of her exoskeleton. “I shouldn’t have left Dryl.”

In reply to this, the little deamon just squawked in agreement. 

“You hush.” Scorpia hissed at the winged troll. Now was not the time for an ‘I told you so’.

“Tell ya what, kiddo,” began Micah. His paternal instincts kicking in to comfort the child in distress. “I think there’s still some cupcake batter left. I’ll even let you lick the spoon.”

Hesitating, Dak looked to Scorpia first to see if this new adult was someone she would trust with them, like Baker and the Dryl staff. Then to Bow to make sure licking a spoon was actually a good thing. 

“Go ahead.” Bow offered a gentle smile. “Cake batter is amazing.”

Micah offered Dak his hand. The hybrid took it hesitantly. Imp fluttered over to perch on the child’s shoulder. Like heck was going to leave master’s heir alone and unsupervised with the rebel King of Brightmoon. 

Tondy went with them. He liked the first batch of cupcakes and was looking forward to more. 

Sea Hawk and the other two Jungle Tribe warriors filed out after them. 

The moment the door was shut behind them, Bow and Scorpia turned to each other and demanded of each other, in perfect unison, “What the heck was that!? Why are you asking me!?”

“I don’t understand.” Bow admitted. “Even if Entrapta didn’t think about Dak as a ‘child’ before, she’s always so excited about her experiments. What the hack is this?”

“Why did you even bring Dak here in the first place?” Scorpia demanded. “They are not even a month old yet, don’t know a thing about the world, and could get hurt! What is wrong with you!? I was going to bring Entrapta back to Dryl where they would both be safe!”

“Dak wanted to come with us!” Adora cut in. She reverted back from She-ra. There were no enemies here, only confrontational former-enemies and confused allies. She did not need She-ra’s power. “We were imprisoned in Dryl when they broke us out under the condition that we take them to Beast Island to rescue Entrapta. It was their idea!”

“Eh…” Bow wordlessly vocalized a disagreement. “Actually… you kinda suggested it first, Adora.” 

“You manipulated them is what you did!” Scorpia snapped, angry and defensive on the kid’s behalf. “What if Dak got hurt? You’re as bad as Catra!”

The comparison made Adora flush with horror. “I am not!” 

Adora might have played on the wants and fears of a child she –at the time- perceived to be Hordak’s heir and loyal to the Horde, in order to free herself and her teammate from a dungeon and enemy territory. But she was not as bad as Catra. She would never destroy the world, everyone on it, and the very fabric of existence out of spite. But, no one remembered the portal being opened. No one knew what happened inside the portal. No one really grasp- no one understood just how bad Catra truly was –wholly and fully bad- the way Adora did. Adora was not as bad a Catra.

Sensing a confrontation coming on, Bow jumped between the two women. 

“Okay, okay.” He tried to sooth. “Let’s all just calm down for a second. We’re all worried about Dak and we’re all happy Entrapta is safe. So, instead of pointing fingers and throwing around blame, let’s talk about how to help them.”

Together, both women took a deep breath and let it slowly. Forcing themselves to calm down. 

Adora cast her eyes around the room they were in, actually taking in their surroundings for the first time. They were in a command room of some kind. That she already noted when she burst through the roof. But now that she was acutally looking, like, really looking, she realized exactly what kind of command room it was. 

“This is First Ones tech!” She exclaimed. 

“What!? Really!” Gasped Bow.

“Huh? Oh. Yeah.” Scorpia seemed decidedly less impressed. “Entrapta’s been fiddling with the stuff since I got here. She see’s that it’s still got power but can’t get it to turn on.”

Placing one hand to a console in the center of the room, Adora muttered one word. “Eternia.”

The whole room lit up. No longer dimly lit like a Horde building. Now the control room was illuminated by warm light. Crystals in the walls and ceiling, previously unseen in the poor lighting, glowing brightly. Lines of First Ones language criss-crossing over the walls and down to the floor. The lettered looping and intersecting with one another to form designs that looked more like pictures than writing. The consoles flared to life, as did the monitors and screens. 

And, as with all First Ones outposts and ruins they had encountered, there was a hologram. 

Not Light Hope, but of Light Hope. Like the first hologram of her Adora ever encountered. The one that kept asking ‘What is your query?’. This one materialized in front of the main screen to announce, “Administrator Detected.”

Scorpia cast a glare at the younger woman. She never liked Adora. Mostly, because Catra was fixated on her and only gave Scorpia attention when she wanted something from her. Catra wasn’t part of the equation anymore, but Scorpia was finding that she still kinda didn’t like Adora. She was a little too perfect, and not ‘perfect’ in a good way. ‘Perfect’ in a way that undermined others. Like, Entrapta had spent days studying these consoles and this tech and couldn’t get it to work. The Adora just burst on the scene, says one word and suddenly –boom!- fully functioning First Ones outpost. She was an extremely frustrating person to be around. 

“What even is Eternia?” Scorpia demanded. 

Adora shrugged. “It’s just a password. But it sure does unlock a lot of things.”

“Ya know, I’m surprised you never asked Light Hope what it was.” Bow admitted. “Since it does unlock so many things, I feel like knowing what it is, is a fact worth knowing.”

“Alright.” Adora shrugged. Then, addressing the hologram asked, “What is Eternia?”

“Scanning for Eternia.” Answered the hologram. 

On the main monitor screen, a spinning status wheel appeared. The trio watched with circle itself for several revolutions before it disappeared and was replaced by a message typed in First One language that flashed on the screen instead. 

“It says ‘No Signal’.” Adora had to translate for them. 

“Eternia undetected.” Confirmed the hologram. 

“But what is Eternia?” Adora pressed. 

“Scanning for Eternia.” Repeated the hologram. 

The same spinning status wheel appeared again on the main screen. Then blinked out again to be replaced with the same message in First Ones writing. The one Adora told them said ‘No Signal’. 

“Eternia undetected.” Repeated the hologram. 

Adora heaved a growl that petered out into a sight of exasperation. Confound these holograms. It was almost like they delighted in frustrating her to no end. “Maybe ‘Eternia’ isn’t anything. Maybe its literally just a password. Ya know, like using your birthday, or just ‘password’.”

“That can’t be right.” Bow shook his head. He was pulling out his tracker pad now. The compound was definitely giving off First Ones signals. Like it was trying to communicate with something. “If ‘Eternia’ wasn’t a thing, they wouldn’t try and scan for it.” He pulled up some memory files on his tracker pad and scrolled through until he found the one he was looking for. “Maybe it’s a –what did my dads call it?- a constellation. Like Serenia. They even sound the same. Serenia. Eternia.”

“But Etheria doesn’t have any stars.” Adora reminded him. 

“What are you two even talking about!?” Scorpia snarled, feeling confused and left out of the conversation. 

Bow and Adora glanced at each other. 

“This isn’t what we came here for.” Bow reminded her. 

Adora sobered. They came here to rescue Entrapta. To atone for leaving her behind in the Fright Zone, and also to ask her about Imp’s strange and concerning prophesy about an Emperor from the other side of the portal. Adora had closed the portal –actually, Angella had closed the portal- and one needed a Runesword to open it again. So, she wasn’t sure if she actually believed that more Horde could come through to attack Etheria. But as She-Ra, she couldn’t ignore a warning like that. As the one who built the portal, Entrapta was the person to ask. 

“I’ll go find Entrapta.” She volunteered. 

Sheathing her sword over her back, Adora left the room. 

…

True to his word, there was vanilla cakebatter still left in the mixing bowl, and a mixing spoon when Micah lead the child-Hordak to the Mess’ kitchen. 

Tondy followed them into the kitchen, glaring at the hybrid the whole time. He did not trust the creature from the moment they busted in through the compound ceiling. They were shaped like a person, two arms, two legs, five fingers, standing upright. But when they moved, they moved like an animal, like a predator. Jumping fast and snarling loud. Lashing out with talons and fangs like any other beast on the island. 

Dak glanced back at the other child, his hackles rising in a silent snarl. They didn’t trust Tondy either. 

When Adora and party first burst through the ceiling and the young Jungle warrior assumed they were enemies, Bow was the first one he went for. Of the grown-ups that they had met so far in their short life, Bow was one of Dak’s two favorites. Anyone who threatened him could not be trusted. 

Micah looked between the two children. 

“I don’t think there’s enough left for two of you.” He admitted. “I might have to make more…”

Back to the pair, he began opening up cabinets and pulled back out the flour, sugar, vanilla extract, bird eggs, all the things he would need to make more cakebatter. 

Looking Dak up and down, Tondy demanded, “What are you?”

“I’m Hordak.” Answered the other child. 

“You said that already.” Tondy snapped. “What does that even mean?”

There was a pause as Dak hesitated. People had been calling them ‘Hordak’ for as long as they were able to form conscious thought. ‘This is not the best time to play Peek-a-Boo, Little Hordak.’ ‘Lord Hordak, come here for a moment.’ The name carried a lot of weight and meaning for the people around them. But Dak didn’t actually understand why. 

“I don’t know.” They admitted. 

Hearing that admission, Micah turned from the cakebatter to look at the hybrid. The recording said they were a clone. A clone was a being artificially made. Like a homunculus, but made by science instead of magic or alchemy. But Micah didn’t consider that something created artificially could also be grown artificially. Would not have the same experiences as a being of the same physical age. Would not have the same knowledge, education, or understandings as another being of the same physical age. 

“How old are you?” Micah asked. 

Micah watched the child count on their taloned fingers. He grew concerned when the hybrid passed their tenth finger and began again on their first hand. 

“Nineteen.” The child finally answered. 

The bottom dropped out of Micah’s stomach and he felt his bile rise. Entrapta was only eight years old nineteen years ago. The clone’s math had to be wrong. “You can’t be nineteen years old!”

Dak looked at him like he was stupid or something. “Nineteen days.”

Oh. That made so much more sense. Micah was visibly relieved. That was also about the same amount of time Entrapta had been on Beast Island. She might have been the one to create the clone, but she never got the chance to meet them. That certainly explained her adverse reaction to being called their ‘mother’. Parents generally got nine months to be used to the idea of being called ‘mother’ or ‘father’. To suddenly having a child drop in out of the blue and call you their parents had to be shocking. Micah understood her reaction. 

“You can’t be nineteen days old.” Tondy snapped. “You’re my age!”

Growing up in an insulated community, on a remote island, the boy wouldn’t have a concept of clones or artificially created beings. He wouldn’t understand what Dak actually was. 

Then the lights flickered for a moment. The florescent bulbs the Horde installed in the compound blinking out, only to be replaced almost immediately by warmly glowing crystals in the walls and ceilings. Illuminating lines on the walls. Intersecting in patterns and designed, not at all unlike the sigils Micah used in his magic. They were not magic sigils. They looked almost like a language. But a language none of them could read.

It looked like Entrapta was right, Micah noted, this building was definitely not originally a Horde base. 

Tondy lifted his spear when the lights flickered. 

Dak jumped up on the counter, knees bent, talons out, hair coiling up behind them. 

Imp hissed and fluttered closer to the hybrid, keeping a close eye on his charge. 

“It’s okay, calm down.” Micah tried to sooth all of them. Gosh, trying to keep two excitable young people and a deamon android calm was much, much more difficult than one toddler aged Princess. Then again, Glimmer had just been a baby and was still mesmerized by simple slight of hand tricks. Dak and Tondy were on the cusp of becoming teenagers and far less easy to please. “Entrapta probably just figured out how to turn out all the old tech in this place. She’s been trying to figure it out since we took the prison.”

At that, Dak perked up, looking much more interested than they did about the cakebatter. “I’m good at tech!” They announced. “Back in Dryl, I could take apart and put back together the robots in Mother’s Locked Room.”

“You must be very clever then.” Micah said in that same tone all adults used when humoring a child. 

Except, the hybrid really did have to be very clever. Very clever and highly intelligent. If they really were only nineteen days old. In the space of less than twenty days they had gone from the functional level of a new born, to being able to speak and communicate at almost the same level as any other ten-year-old. Such a feat really was incredible and on its own meant the child was definitely a genius. Add on top of that they also –claimed- to be proficient with tech, then their intelligence must be off the charts. 

“Maybe after Entrapta’s calmed down a bit, you and she can study some First Ones tech together.”

Dak nodded. “I’d like that.”

…

The compound didn’t have ventilation, but Entrapta still wanted the comfort of a dark enclosed space around her. She found the narrowest corridor she could, pressed her back against the wall, and had Emily stand in front of her to box her in. Sinking to her knees, welding mask still over her face, she drew her legs up to her chest. 

‘Mother’. What a rude thing to call a person. Mothers were not nice people. Mothers were demanding and strict, overbearing and controlling. Mothers held expectations and when you couldn’t meet those expectations they reprimanded you harshly. 

‘You’re such a thoughtless girl, Entrapta, you never think!’ Queen Ensnarea’s voice echoed through her mind. 

The worst part was, moth- her Queen was right. She was thoughtless. She didn’t think of this as a possibility for the clone. Entrapta meant it to emerge from the tank as an adult. An adult. Even if it was allowed to gain consciousness and develop its own personality and identity independent from Hordak’s, she still always imagined it as an adult. A fully formed being capable of taking care of itself and not looking to its creator for care, or affection, or… parenting. This was not the intended result of the experiment! 

Usually, an experiment yielding unintended results was a point of excitement for her. If an experiment goes wrong, that means there’s more to learn and learning was fun! 

But the idea of learning to be a mother… did not sound fun to Entrapta. She did not want to be that kind of person. She did not want to be… that. 

Mask firmly over her face, she was only peripherally aware when the lights changed. The hanging lights the Horde had drilled into the ceiling blinking out as their power flow was interrupted, and different lights entirely flaring to life as the compound was awoken from its slumber. 

“Guess Adora and her sword was the key to getting this place working too…” She muttered to no one in particular. 

Next to her, Emily gave a sad little trill. Her creator had been so happy when Scorpia arrived to rescue her –even though it turned out she didn’t need a rescue- then Adora showed up with that other experiment and now Entrapta was sadder than Emily had ever seen her. 

The reprogrammed Horde bot wished she could comfort the organic woman, but aside from sticking close to her and –literally- being there for her, Emily didn’t know what else she could do. 

They didn’t know how long they sat there in that narrow corridor. Commiserating in silence. 

Long enough for Adora to come find them. 

She had reverted back from her She-Ra form and was just normal Adora again. 

“Hey… Entrapta…” She knelt down next to the older woman, unsure of what she was supposed to say. Adora had never been good at offering comfort. When she tried to console Glimmer through the loss of her mother, it backfired and the other woman lashed out at her. Adora had no idea how Entrapta would react to her clumsy brand of friendly comfort. “Can I sit with you?”

Lifting her head, Entrapta fixed the younger woman with the glowing lenses of her mask. “I can’t stop you.”

“That’s not actually permission.” Adora reminded her. “But I’d like to talk. If you’re willing.”

Entrapta just gave a non-committal shrug. She didn’t care. In that exact moment, she was so wrapped up in her own miserable feelings.

“So, you and Hordak, huh…” Adora began, musing out loud. “Maybe it’s because I grew up around him and he’s sort of an authority figure to me, but… he is not even on the list to be on the list of possibly romantic partners.”

“Romantic partners!?” Entrapta threw her mask up with a tendril of hair and stared wide-eyes at the younger woman. “No! No. We were Lab Partners.”

Shifting her position, Adora also rested her back against the wall. “Can I tell you something about just before the moment Catra opened the portal?”

Entrapta blinked. Catra was the one who opened the portal? Not Hordak? She thought it was Hordak. After all, all he wanted was to go home. The portal didn’t even have to function perfectly, just stay open so that he could send a distress signal through to his Brother. But it was Catra? Why would she want to open the portal so much? She wanted so much she betrayed Entrapta, tazered her in the back, and shipped her off to a gulag for having second thoughts and wanting to be cautious. Why? For spite?

Adora knew that Entrapta’s silence was not actually permission to proceed, but she had never really been good with awkward silences either. So, she pressed on anyway. “Before Catra pulled the switch, she tried to get Hordak to do it. But he refused. He had the machine, he had me, he had the sword. All the pieces he needed to get it to work but he still couldn’t do it. In that moment, all he could think about was where you were. Why you weren’t there with him. The moment of his greatest victory, and he didn’t want it if he couldn’t share it with you. That sounds pretty ‘romantic’ to me.”

With a snort, Entrapta snapped her welding mask back down over her face. “That sounds made-up. Hordak would never be so irrational.” 

“People are irrational when it comes to love.” The younger woman informed her. Then, for reasons unknown, the image of Catra making eye-contact and smirking as she pulled the lever flashed through her mind. 

“Adora,” Entrapta began in her ‘I’m being patient’ voice. “I am just barely learning how to have friends. I can’t have a ‘romantic partner’. Hordak and I were just lab partners and good friends.” 

“Uh-huh.” Adora gave the older woman a knowing smile, carried wisdom beyond her years. “Such good-non-romantic-friends that you tried building a brand new body for him and mixed in your own DNA with it to forever leave your mark on him so that he’d never forget you.” 

“That’s not why I did it!” Entrapta insisted. She lifted her mask again, with her hand his time. “I mixed in my own DNA to fill in the gaps in the sequence and fix the corrupted genes in his DNA. So that the body could be healthy and function the way it was supposed to.”

“You do realize that by mixing your own DNA with Hordak’s the body you created wasn’t a clone of him, but a child from the two of you.” Adora pointed out. 

“I- That-“ Cheeks turning red, Entrapta floundered. “That was not the intended purpose of the experiment!” 

Unintended results seemed to be a running them on Etheria. Adora never intended to become She-Ra when she randomly picked up a sword that had been discarded and lost in the Whispering Woods. Glimmer and Bow never intended to find the legendary Hero of Etheria when they took a lost Horde soldier prisoner. None of them ever meant for Bow and Glimmer to be captured when they decided to recruit for the Alliance at Princess Prom. The Alliance never intended to leave Entrapta behind in the Fright Zone. No one had intended the results that came from any of those actions. Yet, they happened all the same. 

“The subject wants me to be their mother, Adora.” Entrapta reminded her. “I can’t be a mother. I can’t take care of anything. I can barely even take care of myself.”

She recalled a time when one of their portal tests was malfunctioning and she had the bright idea to run towards it to see what was wrong. She didn’t realize how close the machine was to actually exploding. Not until Hordak had already grabbed her and was pulling her out of the way, placing his own body between her and the blast. 

If she couldn’t even keep herself safe in the lab, how could she keep a child safe? 

Should she even have a child in the lab? Was a science lab a dangerous place for a child? There were chemicals in the lab. And heavy machines. And tools with sharp edges. My gosh! There was so much a child could hurt themselves on! How did anyone survive to adulthood!? 

Drawing her knees up, Adora focused her eyes on the opposite wall, not looking at Entrapta when she spoke. “Ya know, I never had a mother.” She announced. “I mean, I had Shadow Weaver, but she wasn’t really a ‘mother’. More like a… ‘custodian’. Yeah, she favored me –or whatever- but she also took care of all of us kids in the Fright Zone. Me, Catra, Lonnie, Rogelio, and Kyle.” 

She glanced to the side to see if her words had any effect of the older woman. 

But Entrapta’s mask was over her face, hiding her expression. 

“Ever since I learned that I’m not really from Etheria, I’ve been wondering about my real parents.” She continued, hoping she was getting through. “If I had the opportunity to meet my mother, I think I’d do just like little Dak did. I’d run away from the castle I was left in, befriend the first pair of strangers I met, and break into who knows where, and rescue her if I needed to –just to meet her.”

Her mask was still over her face, but Entrapta still felt the need to look away. “Sometimes, growing up with a mother is worse.”

Growing up with Shadow Weaver as the closest thing to a ‘mother’, Adora had to admit that was a possibility. Nothing was ever as good as it was in fantasies. 

“But, you can connect with Dak in a way no one else can.” She informed Entrapta. “They’re only two weeks old and already are fascinated by machines and tech. Ya know, Bow and I watched them peel Imp’s skin off and open his head up to fix some wires.”

Lifting her welding mask, Entrapta blinked at Adora. Impressed. “Imp is a highly advanced artificial intelligence!”

Adroa just shrugged. “Dak fixed him up just fine. You two have a lot more in common than you think.” A pause. “They might not be the Hordak you’re used to, but they could also be a competent lab partner. Not in the same way the older Hordak was your ‘lab partner’-“ she raised her fingers in air quotes “-but still a helpful and fulfilling coworker. Or an apprentice.” 

Entrapta looked thoughtful. 

Taking that as a good sign, Adora stood offering her hand to help Entrapta up. “Let’s head back to the command center.”

Nodding, Entrapta rose up on her hair. She did not take Adora’s hand. But she did follow the younger woman back to the lab.   
Adora froze when they stepped off the lift together. Actually seeing the door from the outside. More specifically, the mural around the door. First Ones writing around it. Very intricate and complicated. The interlocking sigils coming together to almost form an illustration. A circle on either side of the door. One surrounded by multiple smaller circles, almost like moons orbiting a planet. 

“That’s… not what I expected.” She admitted. 

“Do you know what it says?” Entrapta asked, suddenly excited. Talking about First Ones, their language, their technology, their everything, was much, much easier than talking about her own feelings or the prospect of being a ‘mother’. 

“Of Runeswrod’s heavy hearts,  
“Like fabric, torn and tattered,  
“Two worlds ripped apart,  
“A true bond cannot be shattered.”

“So, Eternia is another planet.” Entrapta smiled, happy to be learning new things. “And it’s connected to Etheria somehow! That’s it! That’s what this fortress does! It amplifies the connection between the two words! It’s supposed to connect Eternia directly to the Runestone network!” 

Entrapta cackled with glee.

By this point, Adora didn’t have the energy to react. At least they knew what Eternia was now. It was a planet. But that didn’t really matter all that much after all. Not so long as Etheria was stranded here in Despondos. “Please don’t hack the planet again.”

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, we're getting close to the end here. Chapters are getting condensed with more stuff shoved into them, feelings are doing a lot of punching as character development get's clumsy. Ah, yes, this is me working under a deadline. Drinking it! 
> 
> Anyway, since we're getting close to the end and you, the readers, probably aren't seeing an end in sight, I feel the need to explain to you a bit of what my original plan was...
> 
> This fic was supposed to be 21 chapter (its looking like its going to be longer, but I'm still gonna try and finish before November 5th.) And it was meant to be the first in a 4 fic series. 
> 
> 1.) "Genetic Composite"  
2.) "Prodigal Brother"  
3a.) "Sword of Protection" <-- for readers who like happy endings  
3b.) "Sword of Power" <-- for readers who like tragic endings 
> 
> That was the plan! 
> 
> We'll see what happens....


	20. Fragments Falling into Places

Hordak gasped when he felt a clawed hand wrap around his ankle and pull him out from under the console he was working on. A halo of wires that he was working on ripped out with him. 

Snarling, Hordak sat up to glare at the one who dared bother him. 

Catra.

He froze. 

“Hey, Hordak.” She said in a taunting tone that somehow made his skin crawl. “You’ve been taking a while, with nothing to show for it.”

Something in the back of his mind set off an alarm. He was in danger here. One misstep could end him. End him before he ever had a chance to see Entrapta again and demand his satisfaction. Never mind getting home and seeing Prime. Catra had the upper hand. Hadn’t had the upper hand since the portal was opened less than a month ago. 

“It has not even been one month of this planet’s lunar rotations.” He reminded her. “One cannot expect instantaneous results. Not if you wish a job done properly.”

He said this, remembering full well that he had often demanded instant results from those under him, regardless of the difficulty of the task. Hordak cast his brain around trying to remember if Catra was one such underling he demanded immediate results from and he was alarmed to realize that he could not recall. 

Her lips curled into an unforgiving sneer. “I’m giving you until the end of the day.”

“End of the night.” Hordak argued, irrationally negotiating for more time knowing full well that he did not have the upper hand in this situation. “I work best in the dark.” 

That unforgiving sneer morphed into a humorless smile. Almost malicious. Like she were laughing at some cruel but secret joke that only she knew. “Until the end of the night.”

She held his eyes for a moment longer. Mismatched yellow and blue, holding bioluminescent red. 

Hordak looked away first. Admitting submission. 

Catra smirked with a nod. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

She walked away. 

Hordak watched her leave, waiting to the count of ten after the bridge door closed behind her to move. He didn’t exactly know what he had to do, but he did know that he couldn’t remain with Catra. He didn’t know the desert like she did, upon arriving in the Crimson Wastes, Hordak quickly learned that all of the reports he’d received on it were inaccurate, if not all out wrong. So, running aimlessly into the dunes was not an escape, it was just a different kind of sentence. What he needed was help. 

Loath though he was to admit it. 

Needing help meant he was weak. 

But, as a treacherous scientist he still had conflicting feelings about once said, ‘Everyone needs a little help sometimes.’

Hordak hadn’t been able to figure out the former She-Ra’s message. It was very apparent to him that he needed the sword for that. However, every ship had a distress signal. That would be simple and straightforward. The kind of thing that even an untrained passenger could activate in a panic-stricken stupor. 

The only technology on this miserable planet capable of picking up on a First Once signal was the equipment in his own Sanctum –which may or may not still be functioning- and the Princess Alliance. Hordak already knew that the chances of his own people picking up and following the signal in a meaningful time were slim to none. Not to mention, there was no reason for a Horde soldier to answer a distress signal in the first place. If a being was begging strangers for help, then they were too weak to be worth giving help to. 

The Princess Alliance, however… they were soft. Their hearts bleeding for the disadvantaged and the needy. They would answer a distress call. All the more so, since this distress call would be coming from the former She-Ra’s ship. Even if they didn’t necessarily want to help, they would at least want to know what was going on at so important a place. 

Once they arrived, obviously, they would never help him. 

But former-Force Captain Adora and Catra might distract each other enough that Hordak could commandeer whatever vehicle they came in to simply just drive out of the Crimson Wastes. The two women were rather obsessed with each other, he’d noticed. What better distraction was there for Catra but Adora!

It was the best plan he could come up with on such short notice with such little time. 

…

The command room door slid open to reveal that Entrapta had already returned. Dak paused before entering, wondering if they even should, or if they should continue to ‘give Mother some time’, as Micah suggested. 

But then Entrapta looked over her shoulder to see who had just come him. “Oh. You’re here.” Her expression was cautiously curious. “Adora say’s you’re also good with tech. Come in and give me a hand with this.”

With nothing else to do, Dak shrugged and did as they were told. Imp resting on their shoulder, their ever-faithful companion. 

The command room was much changed from when Dak ran out of it just a few hours before. The consoles and screens that had been inactive and inert before, were now booted up and running, blazing with warm soft light. It took a moment for their eyes to adjust to the change. The bioluminescent glow of their sclera dimming to not overstimulate the hybrid’s retina. 

“Come in, come in.” Moving on her hair, Entrapta crossed the space to the door and wrapped a tentacle of hair around the child, pulling them off their feet and all the way into the control room. 

Imp squawked in protest, falling off Dak’s shoulder when she yanked the hybrid off their feet. 

Both Dak and Entrapta ignored him. 

“This is the most complete First Ones outpost I’ve ever seen!” She continued, not looking at the hybrid as she spoke, but still keeping her hair wrapped around them as she moved. “If I’m gonna study it, I’ll need a lab-“ she cut herself off abruptly, stumbling over whatever word she was about to use. “An intern. I’ll need an intern. Since Adora says you’re good at tech, I was thinking you could be my Lab Intern.”

It was all the hybrid could do to just stare at their mother. Just a few hours ago, she couldn’t even be in the same room as them. Now, here she was, wrapping her hair around them and carrying them around the room as she explained things, speaking a mile a minute, and asking them to work along side her on a shared interest. 

“I can take apart and put back together the robots in your Locked Room.” Dak informed her, to give an idea of their level of knowledge and skill. ‘Good with tech’ could mean any number of things and Dak did not want to endanger this tentative connection with their mother just because she and Adora had different ideas of what ‘good with tech’ meant. 

Entrapta paused, not quite understanding for a moment. “’Locked Room’? Oh! You must mean my Lab! I keep it locked when I’m not in there. So, you managed to get in huh? Not bad, not bad. All my robots are my own design, but they run off First Ones power crystals, so you’re at least familiar with that much First Ones tech. Good. Good. And I’ve been told that you fixed Imp when he was offline for a bit. Imp is a very sophisticated AI from another dimension.” 

Not knowing how to react to all this –for lack of a better term- praise, Dak only flushed, feeling suddenly very self-conscious. “I don’t know what all the things are called, so I can’t explain how I fixed him. I just took a look inside and connected the pieces I thought fit together.” A shrug. “Then Imp woke up and was fine.”

They did not feel the need to share the detail that they were the one who broke Imp and caused the android to go offline in the first place. 

“Fascinating.” Entrapta was not looking at them. “You’re a natural prodigy with technology. Hordak, that is, the original Hordak wasn’t as clever as that. He was well educated, obviously, but not intuitive like that. That must be my genetic contribution manifesting. There is a long standing debate over whether intelligence is more strongly determined by environment or genetics. This would make a strong case for genetics.”

Once again, Dak didn’t know what to say in response to that, so they just didn’t say anything. They were just glad Mother wanted them around now. 

It seemed no response was necessary because Mother was still talking. Explanations tumbling out of her mouth a mile a minute. She was exhibiting all the energy and passion that came across on her recordings. This was the version of Mother Dak was hoping to meet and they were happy Mother was recovered from her shock of meeting them enough to be this version of herself around them. 

“Now that Adora’s got this place up and running, there’s so much data to go through!”

In a bit of a daze, Dak gave the now well-lit and functioning command room a more thorough examination. The consoles mostly all seemed to be on some kind of ‘waiting’ screen, although Dak could not be sure as they couldn’t read the Frist Ones language all the tech was programmed in. The central display screen, however, the one that took up almost the whole front wall, was displaying what might have been a map. It was mostly blank, but it had the latitude and longitude lines of a map. There was a spinning status wheel in the center of the screen as if it were trying to load something, or processing something, or scanning for something. Then every so often the status wheel would be interrupted and a message would flash on the screen, probably informing them of the results of the scan, although Dak couldn’t read it. 

“What are we looking for?” They asked. Dak wanted to help Mother and make her like them, but they also needed to know what Mother wanted if they were to try and do it. 

“Looking for?” Entrapta was momentarily confused. “We’re not looking for anything in particular. We’re just looking for knowledge! A better understanding of the First Ones and their technology.” 

Wriggling in their mother’s hair enough to free one arm, Dak pointed a taloned finger at the main display screen on the front wall. “What’s that doing?”

Entrapta followed their finger with her eyes. “Oh. That. Adora set it to look for Eternia, but Eternia’s not here, so it just keep saying ‘Not Found’ then trying again. It’s in a bit of a loop.” She laughed happily. Technology could be funny. 

Dak didn’t know what ‘Eternia’ was or how it might be important to Adora, but if it wasn’t within range of the scanners then it wasn’t relevant at the moment. What was relevant was that Mother wanted to learn more about First Ones tech and she was giving them an opportunity to work with her. Dak did not want to disappoint. They wanted to impress her. They wanted to contribute meaningfully to her research. “What if we set it to scan for other things?”

Turning her attention from the screen, Entrapta blinked at the hybrid, almost as if seeing them for the first time. Then her lips pulled into an excited smile and she clasped her hands together. “Like more First Ones tech! We could map out every single First Ones outpost, settlement, communications array, beacon, and base on the whole planet!” 

She let the hybrid down out of her hair and turned to the nearest console, trying to recall her own rudimentary knowledge of the First Ones language. She could read a little. She wasn’t fluent. Certainly nowhere near as fluent as Adora. But she understood enough –she liked to think.

Dak could not reach the First Ones writing. They had been just barely beginning to master the Dryl dialect of Etherian basic when they ran away from home with Bow and Adora. First Ones language was beyond them. But they hoped that the suggestion was enough of a contribution that Mother would start to appreciate them. 

Moving on their own hair, Dak came up beside Mother to get a better look at what she was doing. They didn’t recognize any of the characters or symbols on the keys she was typing, but she seemed to and that was the important thing, they supposed. 

Imp came back to rest on top of the hybrid’s head to likewise watch Entrapta work, feeling oddly nostalgic. Seeing the hyper and overly excited Princess flit about a lab, with a sparkle in her eye, while a Horde clone looked on in mesmerized confusion. …Imp didn’t realize how much he missed master until this moment. He had been focused on master’s heir this whole time. He never had the chance to pause long enough to wonder what happened to master. Unlike Hode –whom Imp witnessed the fate of- he never saw what happened to master after the Princesses got in. He was in the corridors, covered in foam, locked out of the Sanctum, and master was in the Sanctum with the portal. Imp had no idea what happened to him. 

“Look at this!” Entrapta interrupted their thoughts. “There’s a First One’s communications array in the Whispering Woods, in the village of Alwyn! And a First Ones stronghold, also in the Whispering Woods. Lot of First Ones tech in the Whispering Woods. Huh. Must have been a favorite spot of their’s or something.” She tapped her chin with her hair, filing the detail away in her mind for later study. “Ah! Here’s all the First Ones tech that keeps being unearthed in my mines back in Dryl. There’s the outpost in the Northern Reach. And over in the Crimson Wastes there’s-“ 

She cut herself off suddenly, staring at the signal the display was projecting. 

Dak blinked glowing eyes at her. They certainly couldn’t decipher what was being projected on the main monitor. They didn’t understand the significance of the Crimson Wastes’ signal being different from the others. 

“That’s not the same signal I picked up from the Fright Zone.” She said, not speaking to Dak in particular, but informing the air around them. “I need to get Adora! She’s better at reading First Ones than I am.”

Entrapta dashed from the room, leaving Dak to wonder what was going on and hope that they were not somehow being an annoyance to Mother. 

Without air vents, Entrapta had to run through the halls and corridors like a normal frantic person. She found Adora sitting with Sea Hawk, as the latter was telling King Micah the story of when he first met Glimmer. 

“…so then she just looks me dead-ass in the eyes and says ‘set your ship on fire’.” He was saying. “That was the moment I knew I belonged in the Princess Alliance.”

Sea Hawk paused, expecting Micah to laugh at that part. But the old man just looked confused. Like he didn’t quite understand what was supposed to be so funny. Like there was a generational gap that just couldn’t be crossed. 

Entrapta interrupted them. 

“I need Adora!” She announced, wrapping her hair around the younger woman and pulling her off her seat. 

She carried Adora back to the command room, the rest of the group following after them. Equal parts confused and concerned. Scorpia caught up with them along the way and joined the entourage. 

Dak had no moved from when their mother left. They didn’t want to risk pressing a wrong button or messing something up. 

Entrapta dragged Adora to the center of the room and pointed to the central screen. “What is that?”

It took the other woman a moment or two for her brain to catch up with what Entrapta was asking. Dak realized very early on that while Adora was one kind of smart, that did not actually make her intelligent. On some things, she could be a little slow. 

Finally, “That’s a distress call.” She gasped, leaning forward. “And it’s coming from Mara’s ship in the Crimson Wastes!”

“Mara’s ship!” Bow joined the group just a little bit after Scorpia had. “Is someone attacking Mara’s ship!?”

“I donno.” Adora admitted. “But we have to go. Mara was the last She-Ra before me. We can’t let her ship fall into enemy hands!”

“A First Ones’ ship?” Entrapta’s mind at first jumped to a water craft, or perhaps a floating land ship like one of the skiffs the Horde utilized. Those were the only kinds of ‘ships’ on Etheria. But then she remembered when Hordak was telling her of his turbulent origins, he mentioned ‘…with only his broken ship…’ and he was from another dimension where his people possessed technology that allowed them to travel between worlds. First Ones technology was so advanced, they must possess the same ability. The First Ones ship was a ship that had traveled to Etheria from another world –from Eternia! Entrapta had to see it! “Take me with you!”

Bow and Adora exchanged a look. 

“I donno…” Adora had her misgivings. 

“She might be able to help me fix the parts of Mara’s message that were damaged in the crash.” Bow pointed out. 

Adora did want to know Mara’s full message. “Okay, Sea Hawk can get us back to the mainland, I imagine Micah will want to head back to Brightmoon, he can drop Dak off at Dryl on the way. We’ll take Entrapta and make our way to the Crimson Wastes.”

“Not going back to Dryl!” Dak protested this plan. They had only just met their mother, she was only just starting to give them attention. They did not want to be separated from her again. Dak glanced at Entrapta. “I want to see the First Ones ship too.” 

“But it’s dangerous!” Scorpia protested. It really felt like she was the only person on the planet concerned for the child’s safety. 

“Oh, Dak can take care of themself.” Adora assured her. The hybrid might be young, inexperienced, and naïve. But if they could move through the vents and ducts of the Crypto Castle, climb the outers walls, leap onto flag poles, bash flying deamon androids in the head, and leap-tackle warrior trained Jungle Tribe hunters, then they could handle themselves if things turned south in the Crimson Wastes. 

Micah opened his mouth to agree with Scorpia. The Crimson Wastes were no place for a child. 

But before he could say anything, the child in question cut him off. “I’m not going back to Dryl.” They repeated. “Not until Mother wants to go back. I’m going to see the First Ones ship with Mother, and you can’t stop me.” A pause. “Imp will help!”

Still perched on the hybrid’s head, the deamon gave a squawk of disagreement. He would not be helping master’s heir get themselves killed. What was it with these Horde clones and self-destructive decision making? First Hode, then Hordak, now Hordak Second of Their Name. It was almost like the drive to satisfy their wants was stronger than their drive to remain alive. 

There was a beat. 

Then Bow let out a sound half-way between a sigh and groan. “I mean… if they would beak two intruders out of their own dungeon and bludgeon original-Hordak’s flying minion, fly across the Growling Sea, and break into a Horde prison… why would we expect them to go back home where it safe for this?”

Dak smiled. They liked Bow. Bow just got it. Bow was probably Dak’s favorite adult thus far. 

Imp chittered something rude under his breath. 

As if the matter was settled, Dak grinned. “Are we ready to go?”

…

Hordak wasn’t working on the bridge consoles anymore. He wasn’t even trying to scrub and repair the former-She-Ra’s message. 

He was shaping bits of metal and other scrap found around the ship into rangs, wing-shaped blades, pronged on one side, smooth on the other, like the wings on Horde banners, meant to be used as throwing weapons. Hordak was not a master of them. He preferred melee combat weapons like the force-pike or the quarter-staff. But they were his mentor’s favored weapon and Hode was a master of them. So Hordak had tried to become at least proficient with them back when he was still a Force Captain working under the late Lord. 

He could not beat Catra in hand-to-hand fisticuffs. She was younger, more agile, and healthy. While he had become old for a clone, was slower than he used to be, and suffered failing health. In a straight up fight, Catra could beat him easily. Hordak needed weapons. 

It only he’d had the wisdom –and discipline- to keep in practice with the throwing blades. It had been literal years since the last time he trained with them. 

…

“Have you thought of a name yet?” 

Zero-Zero-Three did not look away from practicing his katas with his force-pike when Red Hord entered the gymnasium. It was only a fool that allowed themselves to be distracted on the battlefield. There wasn’t a single hitch, or skip, or pause in his motions when he answered the Lord –the other Lord, he was a Lord too now, although it had not been made official yet. It would not become official until Horde Prime announced his elevation and his name. 

They were making their way to Capital Core for Prime to make the announcement from Horde World, the center of the Empire. Zero-Zero-Three was a passenger aboard the Leather Vest, Lord Red Hord’s flagship. 

“I have been considering several.” Zero-Zero-Three replied diplomatically. “I will never understand how you could have chosen your name so quickly in that moment.”

Red Hord walked the perimeter of the training circle. Watching Zero-Zero-Three’s movements and studying his technique. “Have you never thought of what kind of name you would choose before now?” He asked. “Did you not fantasize about rising to the cabinet from the moment you hatched from the tank?”

“I never thought I’d live long enough.” Admitted Zero-Zero-Three, feeling odd confessing to someone other than Hode. Hode knew about his defects. Hode understood. Red Hord did not know. Red Hord could not understand. 

“Is that why you jumped to defend Hode when he didn’t want or need it?” Asked the other clone. “It was stupid, and if Hode had been literally any other Lord, he would have punished you severely. But you didn’t care, because you expected to die anyway.”

In that moment, at Horrin’s trial, Zero-Zero-Three had not even thought about dying. He had just wanted to protect his Lord. An older clone whom was the best superior officer Zero-Zero-Three had ever worked directly under. His own safety –never mind his life- didn’t even enter into his mind. 

Completing the final kata in the set, Zero-Zero-Three paused. 

He tried not to think about Hode too much. He was still angry at the older clone for demoting him and leaving him behind without explanation. Then the old man just had to go and die, so that not explanation could ever be given. Zero-Zero-Three resented him for that. But, hand in hand with that resentment was a strange and uncomfortable kind of regret. Hode had been the best superior he ever worked under and he died far away. Zero-Zero-Three wasn’t there with him when it happened. Zero-Zero-Three didn’t get to wish him farewell before the older clone went to join the All High Host. 

Perhaps he paused too long, because Red Hord walked past the training circle and opened the weapons cabinet on the far wall. “Do you know any other weapons.”

“I am programed the same as all clones.” Zero-Zero-Three sounded almost insulted. “I know all the weapons the Horde uses.”

“But are you good at them?” Red Hord clarified. 

Zero-Zero-Three paused to consider. “I’m good at the arm-mounted cannon, and throwing rangs.”

“Well, we won’t be firing arm-mounted cannons inside my ship.” Red Hord announced. “So, throwing rangs it’ll have to be. Let’s have a match.”

He pulled out a case full of twenty four standard issue, polished, and honed rangs. 

It was standard contest rules. A few warm up rounds where all they had to do was stand still and throw at the practice targets. After the warmup, Red Hord hit the switch to run the training program. Moving targets now. Alternating gymnasium lights for distraction, panels opening in the walls to place objects in the way, or automated weapons that forced them to dodge or defend while still trying to make their shots. The program rising in difficulty and intensity as time went on. 

“You know,” began Red Hord, never taking his eyes off the targets. His hands deftly plucked rang after rang off his belt, and flicked them at the targets with the skill of one who used the weapons often. “It’s not just your own name you’ll have to think of. You’ll also get to name your own capital ship.”

“Oh, that’s easy.” Zero-Zero-Three didn’t have to think about that. He already had something in mind for what he always thought would be a suitably intimidating and strong name for a capital ship. “Monstron, is what I’d name my flagship.”

Red Horde scoffed. Still not taking his attention off the training program they were running. “That does not follow the naming scheme for Imperial command flagships.”

All Imperial command flagships, that is, ships that belonged to the Emperor and his cabinet Lords, all followed the same naming scheme as the Velvet Glove. [Textile], [item]. The Velvet Glove, the Leather Vest, the Vinyl Hood, Lycra Pant, and Linen Cloak. So, Zero-Zero-Three had to come up with a name for his flagship as well as himself. 

“Did Hode ever tell you why he named his ship the Vinyl Hood?” Asked Red Hord as he executed an unnecessarily complicated dodge and throw move, and still managed to hit the target. 

Zero-Zero-Three did not want to admit that, no, Hode never did tell him why he named his flagship the Vinyl Hood. 

“Something that’s hooded is hidden.” Explained Red Hord. 

He said it so heavily, as if there was more meaning to the statement than just ‘hoods equal hide’. Zero-Zero-Three didn’t understand the significance and he fumbled a dodge in his confusion. A long pole folding out from the wall and catching him in the stomach. It knocked the wind out of him and he staggered backwards, determined to keep his feet under him. The last thing he wanted to do was collapse in front of one of the cabinet Lords –one of his fellow cabinet Lords, he was one of them now. 

Shutting down the training program, Red Hord stared at him, studying. “Hode didn’t tell you anything.”

The words stung. Zero-Zero-Three liked to think he was special to the older clone. At least, Lord Hode seemed to invest unnecessary amounts of time in trying to educate him on culture. Poetry, fiction, sculpture, illustration, and music. But not in how he chose the name for his flagship. Or where he came up with his own name. ‘Hode’ was just ‘Horde’ with the R removed, right? At least, that’s what Zero-Zero-Three always thought. But now that he was learning that he didn’t actually know his Lord as well as he thought he did, Zero-Zero-Three was beginning to question that too. 

The other Lord was still giving him a weird look. Zero-Zero-Three almost couldn’t decipher it. “You really don’t know about Hode.”

All this heavily weighted talk about the old clone with veiled significance that he didn’t understand was really starting to irritate Zero-Zero-Three. “Hode was a cabinet Lord, I was merely his Force Captain. He was not required to tell me anything.” 

“Of course.” Nodded Red Hord. He was a cabinet Lord too, and was also equally not required to tell his subordinates anything. He circled the perimeter of the room, collecting the throwing rangs from the targets –and the walls just off from the targets, one of them needed to work on their aim. “You know, no one has seen Lord Hode’s deamon since he died. We’re all very interested to know what happened to it.”

Zero-Zero-Three frowned. “When Lord Hode demoted me to Territory Captain and then left me there, he still had his deamon with him.”

“I know.” Red Hord nodded, depositing the rangs back in their case and closing the weapons cabinet. “I wasn’t asking you where it was. Just mentioning that it was interesting that it was missing. Fascinating robots, the deamon-class android. Horde Prime meant them to be sort of administrative assistants for his cabinet. They had the same level of intelligence as a fully formed clone, but with much more memory storage, and the ability to record audio files. It would have made them perfect for relaying messages and communiques between the cabinet without danger of interception by enemy rebels. But all the cabinet used them for was to spy on and undermine each other.” 

That must be why none of the other –current- cabinet Lords had deamons of their own. When Zero-Zero-Three was still newly hatched, he remembered another of the cabinet Lords besides Hode having a deamon. But when that Lord died, his deamon was decommissioned along with his flagship and never seen again. 

Red Hord moved to exit the gymnasium. “Imagine what kinds of recordings and files Hode stored on his deamon.” He left. “Think of a decent name, and practice more with those rangs. Your aim is terrible.”

…

Everyone piled into the Dragon’s Daughter. Adora, Bow, Entrapta, Scorpia, Swift Wind, Imp, Micah, Dak, and of course, Sea Hawk. It was a little cramped on the deck, but not so much to prevent Sea Hawk from sailing it. There was some awkward squeezing between horse posterior and elongated scorpion tail, and uncomfortable bending and kneeling to tie off the main sail and make sure the boom didn’t swing around the bash anybody in the head. 

But after they were out of the harbor and out on the water, things settled down. 

There was an awkward moment where everyone was sort of staring at everyone. There really wasn’t much sitting room. Unless they didn’t mind sitting on the taffrail. But that ran the risk of them falling off the boat. Sea Hawk and Adora were the only ones brave enough. Feeling a bit claustrophobic, surrounded by so many people, Entrapta used her hair to lift herself up the mast, finding a more comfortable seat in the crows nest. 

“So…” Bow began, trying to diffuse the awkwardness. “Usually, when we sail with Sea Hawk we have songs.”

“I’m not allowed to sing my song anymore.” Announced the sailor. 

From out of nowhere, Bow produced his violin. “But we know more than one song, don’t we.”

With musical accompaniment, Scorpia reprised her song ‘Twiddle’.

“Saber had her lovers, they came in at every door,  
“You could even say that she was really quite a whore.  
“But when she needs some pleasing, she knows just where to go  
“I grab my good friend Madam Rouge and we go down below.”

After she finished the final chorus of her song, Micah, wanting to get in on the fun volunteered a song from when he was growing up in Mysticor. 

“Sixteen books on magic spells,   
“Stacked below the cloak of elves.   
“And sixteen books on magic spells,   
“So elegantly bound.   
“And I know I could not say why,   
“On this summer evening.” 

When Micah was done, however, the deck lapsed back into an awkward silence. No one really knowing what to say to anyone else. It wasn’t like all of them were friends. Scorpia and Imp were former Horde. Technically, Adora was too, but she was also a Hero of the Rebellion, same as Bow. Micah was an old Rebellion leader, but hadn’t been seen for twenty years. No one on the boat had ever actually met him before coming to Beast Island. No one really knew where Entrapta and Dak stood. Entrapta seemed to hop the lines as if she were playing jump rope, and Dak made it abundantly clear that they stood with their ‘mother’. 

“Hey, Entrapta, you know any songs from Dryl?” Scorpia shouted up the mast at the older woman.

Lifting her welding mask, Entrapta looked down at them, almost confused. One would think no one had ever asked her what kinds of songs her country had before. “Well, there was one song my robot-parents used to sing for me…” She confessed. Tapping her chin with her hair, it look her a moment to recall the lyrics. Then she started snapping her fingers, the glove muting the sound slightly. 

“Do, do, do, woah… Arrow of entro~opic time.  
“Oh, arrow of entropic time.  
“If you made a scrambled egg tonight,  
“There’d be no return to yoke and white.  
“And when it’s fried you, can’t go back to raw food.  
“Structure decomposes ‘til it’s gone.  
“Hots spots cool and entropy grows on.  
“My lab was cleaner, now looks like Mantisours been there.  
“Not my fault, blame it on entropic time.”

She petered out as she realized that the others were not enjoying her song quite as much as they did the others. All except Dak. They appeared to be gazing up at her, hanging on every lyric. They, at least, appreciated a bouncy do-op song about science. Entrapta appreciated them just a little bit more. 

Imp jumped up on Swift Wind’s back and screeched for everyone to pay attention to him now. He wasn’t just a highly advanced AI and audio file and data storage unit. He had music in him too! Hode made sure to save some song files to him. 

“I am not a stage.” Swift Wind informed the flying germline. He might have bucked a bit to get the wined troll of himself. But he couldn’t do so without kicking someone else, they were so cramped on the deck of the ship. So, the horse ruffled his wings and resigned himself to being Imp’s sounding platform. 

The deamon opened his mouth and began a recording he never thought he’d ever find a relevant moment to play. 

“Are you recording?” Came a voice that sounded remarkably like Hordak’s but… not quite Hordak’s. There was a bit of feedback and a squawk that sounded a bit like Imp’s own voice answering the speaker. “Well, blink or something. I can never tell when you’re recoding. Anyway…” 

There was the sound of a few strings being plucked experimentally. Then the plucking melted into an almost haunting melody. Then the voice that sounded like Hordak, but couldn’t possibly be Hordak began to sing. 

“If we should lose the fight,  
“Light’s Hope burns ever brighter.  
“One hundred days and nights,  
“Engines, pistons form a choir.

“If blood should stain the skies,  
“As waxing stars re-ignite.  
“From Despondent dark they rise,  
“And strike a chord of steel and light.”

“Nobody wants to hear your violent Horde songs!” Micah cut him off abruptly. He swatted at the little deamon, whom fell off the horse’s back. 

Imp gave an indignant squawk. It wasn’t a Horde song. The Horde had no songs. The Horde made no songs. It was a rebel song. From a rebel world. Taught to Hode by a rebel leader. 

Clearing his throat, Sea Hawk drew everyone’s attention to him. “Land’s coming into view. I just wanna confirm, I’m just dropping you guys off close to the Crimson Wastes, and then Micah and I are continuing on the Brightmoon alone.”

Adora and Entrapta nodded. 

As She-Ra, Adora could not let ship of the previous She-Ra fall into enemy hands. 

While Entrapta was fascinated and excited to study a First One’s craft that could travel between worlds. 

Bow, Dak, and Scorpia were tagging along with them for their own personal reasons. 

Sea Hawk was going to make sure King Micah finally got home to his daughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so more songs this chapter. I just want to remind everyone, that none of these are my own original lyrics. I am not original like that. 
> 
> Scorpia's song: [Twiddle](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JAvWu6pILKk)  
Micah's song: [Cloak of Elven Kind](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZtVORaI-f0s)  
Entrapta's song: [Entropic Time](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i6rVHr6OwjI&t=217s)  



	21. The Last Time Hordak Saw Hode

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, I had hoped to finish this in 21 chapters. But this chapter is already almost 8k words and there’s still more that needs to be done. So I’m breaking it up.

It was evening by the time they reached the mainland. The Glow Moon dipping down low over the waters behind them. 

Everyone was ready to get of the overcrowded ship. They didn’t even wait for Sea Hawk to tie off the boat. The moment the Dragon’s Daughter Five pulled close enough to the dock for her passengers to jump off, they did. 

With everyone already disembarked, the pirate stopped mid-knot and re-cast off instead. “Whelp, guess Micah and I will just be off the Brightmoon then.”

The long lost King looked impatient and excited. He wanted to get home to his daughter. 

For half a second, Sea Hawk looked like he was about to offer to go with Adora and Bow. But Micah flashed him a look that made the sailor pause. The King wanted to get home, and it wasn’t like Sea Hawk would be particularly useful in a dessert where there was no ocean, or on a ship that did not sail on seas. Besides, there were so many going already. Adora, Bow, Entrapta, Entrapta’s strange Hordak-clone baby, Scorpia, and all of their animal/robot companions; Swift Wind, Emily, and Imp. The combination of powers and talents wasn’t quite as balanced as the Princess Alliance team, but there was enough raw power and competence there to make up for it –also, She-Ra. 

So, Sea Hawk concluded he was not needed. He would take Micah home, as was the original plan. 

Adora and her party pressed on to the Crimson Waists, traveling across the landscape in the dark as the Glow Moon dipped lower behind them and night gathered. The bioluminescent glow of Dak’s eyes grew brighter as the evening grew darker. 

It was full-dark by the time they reached the desert’s edge, and a little bit longer after that before they reached the cantina when Adora and Bow first met Huntara. 

To spite the late hour, the bar was still crowded and roaring with noise. A few patrons looked up with the party entered, but they recognized Adora, Bow, and Scorpia, and very quickly went back to their drinks. Nobody wanted to get on the wrong side of any of them. 

Adora marched right up to the bartender. “Has Catra been back here?”

“The small angry cat-girl I came with last time.” Scorpia clarified when the bartender looked momentarily confused. 

There was another moment’s pause as the woman managed to process what these two frantic outsiders were trying to ask her. “Everyone in the Crimson Waste knows who Boss Catra is.” She informed Scorpia. “She passed through here earlier in the month.”

“Was she heading to Mara’s ship!?” Adora pressed. 

“I don’t know what that is.” The bartender admitted. “Now, either buy a drink, tell me what happened to Huntara, or get out.”

While this conversation was going on, Dak had been eyes some of the drinks the patrons already had. They all smelled so interesting, and the people drinking them seemed to be enjoying themselves. “Can I try one of the ones with the froth on top?”

“No.” Both Scorpia and Bow choired with one voice. 

“You’re too young for beer.” Scorpia informed them. 

“I tried wine for the first time a couple weeks ago.” Bow added. “Wine is supposed to be one of the better tasting alcoholic drinks ‘cause it’s made from fruit. It still tasted bad. Trust me, kiddo, you don’t want to drink alcohol.” 

Imp gave a squawk of agreement. Wine and other alcoholic beverages were for older Horde clones whom were non-hybrids and knew their limits. The little deamon helped Bow and Scorpia usher the child outside. They waited with Swift Wind and Emily for Adora. She finally came out, having to drag Entrapta by the elbow. 

“…but I just thought she should know the alcohol percentages she was advertising were inaccurate.” The scientist was saying. “Watering down the drinks is fine, and probably healthier for her patrons in the long run, but that alters the ratios within the drink. She’s displaying inaccurate data!”

“We’re going to see a First Ones ship.” Adora reminded her. “Won’t that be much more interesting than watered down beer?”

That was the whole reason Entrapta came with them to the Crimson Waste after all. 

They pressed on. 

They reached Mara’s ship just as the Glow Moon was peeking out over the horizon. They traveled until the end of the night. 

…

“Hey, Hordak.”

He was prepared for her return, but it still made his skin crawl when she said that. 

He was standing. At a military rest. Arms clasped behind his back. A pose he assumed often, so it did not seem out of the ordinary now. There was no reason for Catra to assume he might be hiding makeshift weapons behind his back. 

“It’s moonrise outside.” She announced. “End of the night, your time’s up.”

That statement required no response. Hordak did not give one, and Catra was not interested in one. 

“Have you managed to retrieve the rest of the other She-Ra’s message?” Catra asked this already knowing the answer. If he couldn’t do it in a month, there was no reason to think he could magically pull out results in twenty-four hours. He hadn’t done it. Which meant that Hordak spent this time doing something else. Catra was many things, but foolish was not one of them. She was expecting some kind of a double cross. 

“I have not.” Hordak stated flatly. 

Loath though he was to admit it –even to himself- Hordak could be foolish from time to time. He was a fool to let Entrapta get so close, he was a fool to trust the natives of this world –even as nothing more than subordinates, and he was a fool to underestimate Catra. He would not make that last mistake twice. The Force Captain had proven herself equal parts capable, devious, and wildly intelligent more than once. Hordak knew, that she would know, that he had done something else with the time she gave him and expect a retaliation of some kind. His fingers curled around the bat-wing shaped throwing rangs held behind his back. 

It had been years since he practiced with them, and these weren’t even real rangs. The shape was the same, so their aerodynamics should be similar. But the weight and balance was different. His throws might still be off. But they were the only weapons he had since there were no spears or pikes on this ship, and an arm-mounted canon was not something easily cobbled together from alien parts. 

Hordak straightened. “So, what shall it be then?” He asked. “A public execution in front of the rabble you’ve collected into a following here in the Wastes? Or just a private killing? Quick and simple.”

Catra snorted at the sheer casualness he took to the idea of his immanent death –not that she was yet sure if death was the punishment she wanted for Hordak. At the moment, some kind of discipline for failure was necessary –just like he did to her when their roles were reversed- but said disciplinary action need not be as final as a death sentence. 

“You’re in a hurry.” She commented with a bit of a chuckle. “What, is there someone you need to meet on the other side?”

Opening his mouth, Hordak was about to respond that there was no one –dead or alive- that he particularly cared to see again. Except, the image of Entrapta flash through his mind. While he did not believe she was dead, he did still very much want to see her again. For revenge, obviously. And if he were rendered too infirm by whatever Catra did to him to exact said revenge, then at the very least, to demand an explanation for her betrayal. So, there was someone –alive, not dead- that he cared very much to see again. 

Right on the heels of the image of Entrapta, was the memory of Hode. Dark cape sweeping in dramatic folds, hood pulled up over his head, partially turned so that all Hordak could see was the lower half of the older clone’s face. ‘Yes, Zero-Zero-Three, I am.’ Hode’s retreating back after he demoted and abandoned him on a random world within a larger Empire. That was the last time Hordak ever saw his mentor. He never got the chance to ask the old man ‘why?’ either. To demand an explanation from him. 

In a glittering moment of horrifying clarity, Hordak realized, there was someone on the other side he wanted to meet again. Almost as much as he wanted to meet Entrapta again. 

And for the same reason, too.

Why? Why did you do that to me!? I thought I was special to you!

Hordak stood there. Frozen. 

Catra raised an eyebrow at him. Tilting her head to the side, her lips stretched into a taunting smile. “Aw… did I hit a nerve? Is there someone you wanna see on the other side? Some little Horde Mommy you never met, or maby Daddy that never loved you.”

“Horde clones have no parents.” Hordak informed her, suddenly being reminded that he never actually took the time to read her in on Horde Prime or what he was actually trying to do with the portal. She thought he was trying to reconnect with his separated unit and bring more Horde forces to Etheria. Catra didn’t realize that, originally, Hordak just wanted to go home. She didn’t know his history like Entrapta did. She didn’t know he was a clone, and she certainly didn’t know about Emperor Prime. 

Her expression turned suddenly sharp. “Neither do Etherian Horde soldiers.” 

Neither of them had moved, but Hordak felt a shift in the mood of the room. Like he was suddenly no longer standing on stable ground. One misstep and he would fall at her mercy.

“Spare me your ‘oh woe is me’ speech, Force Captain.” He began. “Civilian casualties happen in war just as often as soldier deaths. Do not try and lay your anonymous parents’ lives at my feet, as your precious Adora tried to. I have never known any of the parents of the orphans raised in the Fright Zone.” He left out the part that he never cared either, that was definitely a misstep. “You may direct your complaints for your troubled childhood to Shadow Weaver.”

Her hands balled into fists at her sides. She thought this was just gonna be a little light intimidation and a reminder of who was in charge of this new power dynamic of thiers. But he pushed both the Adora button, and the Shadow Weaver button at the same time. He shouldn’t have done that. Catra’s eyes went wide as her pupils went smalls. Glaring up at him. How dare he try and tell her who she should and should not be upset at for her bad life. Everyone in her life contributed to her suffering. Not just Adora leaving her, and Shadow Weaver using and manipulating her. Scorpia siding with Entrapta over her. Entrapta changing sides again and refusing got open the portal. Kyle for his constant incompetence, and Lonnie and Rogelio for always covering for him. And Hordak, for just existing in the first place. For bringing the Horde to Etheria. For creating the world she lived in. The world that shaped her and made her what she was. Most of all Hordak. 

How dare he.

“You’re right.” She informed him. Voice calm and even. Deceptively so. On the inside, Catra was anything but calm. “You probably didn’t know my parents. You probably never even saw their faces, never mind learned their names. You weren’t the one who orphaned me, or brought me to the Fright Zone to be raised. You probably don’t even care.” 

He didn’t.

She reached a hand up. Instinctively Hordak shied away, stepping back from the touch. Catra’s claws traced the outline of the crystal on his exo-suit without actually touching it. She couldn’t read the First Ones letters that were inscribed on it, but she understood its significance. Entrapta loved her first Ones tech. She would not give it away to just anyone. 

“But there is a person on Etheria you do care about.” She announced. 

Shifting the rangs he still held behind his back, Hordak freed one of his hands to place it protectively over the crystal. “You are mistaken Force Captain. Princess Entrapta was a useful tool at one time. Since her betrayal, my only desire for her, is to see that she is adequately punished.” 

Catra laughed at that. A mirthless, rueful laugh. One full of malice and scorn. “Wow, you really are so gullible.”

“What?” He blinked glowing ruby eyes at her, not understanding. 

She grinned a wicked grin at him, a smile without humor. “I told you Entrapta betrayed you, and you believed me. You didn’t even question it.” 

“What!?” His glowing eyes went wide at that statement. 

“I guess you must not think much of her.” Continued Catra, crossing her arms over her chest. The action was casual. As if this were just an easy conversation between friends. Her tone was matter-of-fact when she spoke. “To just accept that she would stab you in the back, after all those months you spent holed-up in the Sanctum together. I guess you two weren’t all that close after all, and this new armor doesn’t really mean anything either. It’s only Entrapta’s precious First Ones tech she had us drag all the way from her mines in Dryl.”

Hand still resting on the crystal, Hordak’s fingers clenched, his talons scraping the hard shell of the exo-suit. “What- what are you saying?” His hands were shaking. Not just the one over the crystal, the one behind his back too. It threatened to drop the makeshift rangs we was holding. “If Entrapta did not betray me, then how did the Princesses get in?” He shook his head. “It does not make sense!”

Catra laughed again. “You may direct your complaints for Princesses in the Fright Zone to Shadow Weaver.” She flashed sharp feline teeth. “She and Sparkled teamed up, made each other stronger somehow –more powerful- that was how the Princesses got in.”

All this time… he’d been hating her… for something she didn’t do. 

But…?

“If Entrapta was innocent in this, then where was she?” Hordak demanded. “Where is she now? Where is Entrapta!?”

Before he was even aware that he was moving, Hordak surged forward to try and grab Catra. The hand that had been covering the crystal reaching out, fingers spread, talons extended. He snarled a wordless snarl. 

Catra seemed unconcerned. She jumped into the air, doing an unnecessary summersault mid-air, and landing on the console behind Hordak. 

“Probably dead by now.” Admitted the cat-girl, there was the slightest hint of regret in her voice. Entrapta had been very useful to her in the beginning. But while there was regret, Catra did not betray even a hint of remorse. She felt no guilt for what she did. Entrapta always frustrated her to her wits’ end. They were not friends. That was fine. Catra didn’t need friends. “I sent her to Beast Island.”

“You- What-!?”

Hordak’s vision blanked for a half a moment. His breathing hard, as if he’d just run the endurance course, but all he’d done was stand there talking to Catra. His nasal cavity flared as his senses sharpened, narrowing in on Catra. His hindbrain no longer reading her as ‘subordinate’ or ‘ally’ and seeing only ‘enemy’. He experienced a feeling Hordak previously only thought could be felt in the thick of battle, when the air was filled with the sound of screams and the spray of shit and blood. 

The killing edge. 

In the space of a second. With only a single statement, Catra had driven him to the killing edge. 

He wasn’t even aware he’d thrown the rangs in his hand until Catra was jumping off the console to dodge them. The wing shaped blades impaled themselves in the crystal keys of the panel, causing the machine to spark and wine in protest. 

The already dimly lit bridge of the First Ones ship blinked warning lights before going even darker. 

His eyes glowed even bright in the darkness. Two smoldering coals of crimson, searching the shadows, seeking the enemy he needed to destroy. 

He sniffed the air, primal instincts buried by programming pushing their way to the surface.

But Catra could also see in the dark, and her primal instincts had never been suppressed or buried like his. With a deep and throaty growl, she pounced on the taller being. Claws slashing at his face and his throat. Blood trickled from the gashes in his face and trickled into his eyes. 

The clone struggled to shake her off him. His own talons finding her sides where her kidneys should be. But Catra was wearing a Horde issued unitard, over thick fur. While his sharp talons did succeed in breaking the fabric, and cutting through the fur, he only succeeded in making shallow, superficial scratches on the skin underneath. Curling his hand into a fist, the clone punched the spot instead. Hitting Catra hard in the side, just above her kidney. 

Gasping, one arm curling around her mid-section, Catra half-jumped, half-fell off of the alien. She got her feet under her quickly. Turning to face her opponent. 

In all her years with the Evil Horde –in all her life- Catra had never seen Lord Hordak look so… wild. 

Eyes that always did glow an unnerving shade of red were wide, and blazing brighter. So bright, that they cast a hellish red shine on the dark purple blood that dripped from his face and neck. He was breathing hard, filling the otherwise quiet bridge with the sound of deep panting. He snarled a wordless snarl of his own, showing sharp teeth and even sharper fangs that were as red as his eyes. Thick saliva mingled with his own purple blood dripped from his mouth. 

“Catra…!” She more felt, rather than heard her name escape that monstrous, dripping, red hole of a mouth. 

Unconsciously, Catra took a step back. He looked almost mindless. 

“You took her from me…” He growled. Voice, barely above a whisper. Issuing from the depths of that red throat and drifting through the dark between them. “She was my- my…” He struggled with the vocabulary. None of the 47 languages he was programmed with in the crèche included a term that felt appropriate. “She was mine!”

But he wasn’t completely mindless. Obviously. Just, half-insane with rage –and other emotions he never received any programming in how to process. 

“She was going to shut down the portal!” Catra shouted back, trying to regain some measure of control of the situation. “She might not have betrayed you yet, but she was going to!”

Surging forward with only talons and teeth, Hordak closed the space between them. He had been warrior trained since before he gained conscious thought. Programmed with all the knowledge and information a being needed to be an expert in hand-to-hand combat. Then given the physical conditioning and training a being needed to execute that knowledge. 

But in his enraged, almost feral state, all that knowledge and training went out the airlock. The clone over extended himself. Stance too wide and unbalanced, arms outstretched too far, movements slowed by the pull of his own body. 

Catra was able to dodge him easily. 

Hordak stumbled and almost fell. Having to brace his hands against the bridge’s command console to keep from falling. Purple blood dripped on the crystal keys, but he ignored it. His defect prevented him from healing. The cuts would never close. Even if he did manage to defeat Catra now, he would still die. If not from blood loss, then from infection of the open wounds. 

Eyes shifting to the rangs that were still impaled in the console, Hordak pulled one out. Taking more time and care when he threw it this time. 

His aim was still bad, but it connected with it’s target this time. Sort of. 

He had been aiming for Catra’s head, right between her eyes. The blade just barely nicked her ear and a few strands of coarse brown hair. 

With a snarl, Catra put one hand to her hear. It came away with blood. He might not have done much damage, but he did open a wound. 

The scent of fresh blood –that was not his own- bolstered his confidence. Took him back to the days when he was a competent soldier. When he could run through a battle field, vault across buildings, take out three opponents in close quarters by himself, and still complete the mission. The scent of blood, and adrenaline, and anxiety. The scent of prey. His hindbrain readjusting his mental balance to better stand on the killing edge. 

“Setting off the portal destroyed my Sanctum!” He shouted. “Destroyed the empire I built here! The only one who betrayed me is you!”

That statement cut Catra deeper than she thought it would. Deeper than the mention of Shadow Weaver, or even Adora. ‘The problem is you!’

Now it was Catra’s turn to go almost half-mad with rage. How dare he!? He didn’t know her. Or her life. Or what she’d been through. What his empire put her through. What he put her through. He did not get to call her traitor! He did not get to say she was the problem! 

Jumping high in the air, Catra leapt over Hordak’s head to land on the console. She plucked the second rang from between the crystal keys and stabbed it into the back of his exo-suit, getting the wing-shaped blade in the joint between two armored plates. Right where his arm met the shoulder. 

The whole limb sparked. Sending pins and needles pain through out that whole side of Hordak’s body. He snarled at the sensation. The first rational fear crawling into his brain since Catra confessed his- his Lab Partner had been sent to Beast Island. He was weak without this armor –armor that Entrapta made for him- and Catra knew that. She knew how to kill him, and she very well could. 

Trying to move his arm, Hordak was horrified to realize that the armor had locked up on that side. He could not move the arm. Just the tips of his fingers a little bit. He stared at Catra. His instincts for self-preservation overriding his rage at the loss of Entrapta. His hindbrain giving way to rational thought. Hordak stepped back from the killing edge. 

Catra did not hesitate. Taking advantage of his fear, and the hesitation that came from it, she jumped on the alien clone again. This time, instead of madly clawing at where his skin was exposed, she had a target and a purpose. She had already ripped his heart out metaphorically, it was time to rip his heart out literally. 

Or, at least, literally-adjacent. 

She closed her hand over the pink First Ones crystal on his collar. Hand etched with a word neither of them can read, and placed there by Entrapta. It wasn’t just the power source for his exo-suit. It meant something to her. It meant something about them. 

Getting her claws in the seem between crystal and setting, Catra pulled hard and- -ripped it out. 

The setting sparked. 

The whole suit sparked. 

Even Catra felt a little jolt of electricity when she ripped out the power crystal. 

They both fell to the ground. Catra holding the gem, Hordak sparking and twitching –almost like he were having a seizure. 

Catra blinked, staring at him. Watching his body shake and seize. Only looking away when the armor finally shut down and locked up. 

She looked at the crystal in her hand. She knew it was the power source for his armor. She knew Entrapta built the armor for Hordak and that it was glitch and didn’t always work right. Hell. Just a bit of sand in it made the thing go into a tizzy. She also knew that Hordak was a lot frailer and weaker than he let on. She knew he visited the First Ones’ med bay regularly and had wide marks and discolorations all over his body. He was sick. Somehow. 

But, she didn’t think just shutting down his armor would defeat him. 

So easily. 

Adora wasn’t even this easy to beat. 

Pushing herself to her feet, Catra prodded at Hordak’s prone body with her toe. He groaned, but did not move. He was alive, just not conscious. Kicking him, maybe a bit harder than was necessary, Catra rolled his body over. His eyes were closed, lips slightly parted, breathing uneven and labored. The scratches she dealt to his face and neck were deep and still bleeding. The neck wound in particular was almost a fountain. Spurting fresh bursts of dark purple blood out in time to the uneven beating of his heart. 

Hordak wasn’t dead yet, but he would be dead soon. He would bleed out on the floor. 

Catra stood there, staring at him. One arm curved back around her mid-section where he had punched her in the kidney earlier in the fight. She was at a bit of a loss as to what to do. She won. But there was no satisfaction in it. 

There was no satisfaction in any victory. 

She didn’t feel happy.

She just felt… tired. 

Not knowing what else to do, still holding the First One’s crystal in her hand, Catra exited the ship’s bridge. 

She would deal with Hordak’s body later. 

…

To the vast majority of races in the known universe, it was called ‘Horde World’, but to the Horde themselves, the clone troopers, their commanders, their Captains, the cabinet Lords, and –of course, Horde Prime himself, it was Capital Core. The center of the Empire. The seat from which the Emperor ruled, and the birthing place for his brood of clone soldiers. 

A gas giant orbiting a single yellow star. There was no terrestrial surface on Capital Core. The cities and settlements, more importantly, the cloning crèches floated on the layers of the planets gasses. The largest of which was Kurgrad, what could be considered the ‘capital city’ of Capital Core –although, Horde Prime did not rule from it. He ruled from his flagship, the Velvet Glove. 

Docking with Kurgrad –or any of the floating settlements of Capital Core- was an experience unto itself. It wasn’t like two ships docking in space. In a zero-gravity environment, without outside forces pulling upon the ships, without particles or corrosive gasses threatening the integrity of the clamps and locks. In space, all anyone had to worry around was maneuvering and making sure not to collide. 

But in addition to being a gas giant and having a strong pull that fought with capital ships’ propulsion, the atmospheric layers of Capital Core were also highly acidic and corrosive. The Horde employed various static fields and distortion fields to keep the corrosion at bay. But those fields had to be lowered to allow clamps to lock into place so that ships could dock and an airlock could be established. Docking in Capital Core was an adrenaline pumping ballet of split-second timing between pilot and docking bay engineer. 

Once the Leather Vest did dock, however, one could disembark same as any other time a capital ship connected with another vessel. 

Zero-Zero-Three stepped off the ship and navigated his way through the narrow corridors of Kurgrad towards the central hub. 

The central hub was a wide, circular chamber. With a dome celling of laminated transparasteel and glass so that if one looked up, they could see the ‘sky’ of Capital Core. During cycles of clear weather, the view was that of stars, or maybe some of the planets many moons. On cycles of poor weather, the view would be clouded by swirls and trails of yellow, orange, and cream. 

Today seemed to be a cycle of bad weather, Zero-Zero-Three noted. The view outside the dome was a deep caramel orange with a dark streak of scarlet and crimson cutting through on a south-westerly path –a direction the winds did not usually travel. 

So preoccupied was Zero-Zero-Three at studying the sky, that he almost didn’t notice the Display. 

The central hub was also were Horde Prime staged his examples of what happened to those who betrayed the Empire. Nothing squashed dissent faster than gruesome Displays. Usually, the bodies erected in the center of the hub were those of aliens. Scientists that tended the cloning crèches, engineers that maintained the static fields, mechanics that serviced the ships, and any other variety of imperial subject that served in a menial labor job. Every now and again, one of them would grow malcontent and have to be put down. Their body then put up on Display as a warning to any others who might try and use their job to sabotage Horde Prime’s mighty Empire. 

Today, however, the Display was not an alien. 

Zero-Zero-Three stared at the body. Not quite sure what he was supposed to think. 

Tall, like himself. With long legs, a narrow waist and wide ribcage. Hands that ended in talons just like his own. A pike was driven up their cloaca, the point of it coming up out of the stump where their head used to be. Even without the head, Zero-Zero-Three would recognize the body. It was his own body –minus the discoloration caused by his defects, of course. It was a clone body. 

The traitor on display was a Horde clone. 

He stood there, staring at the body of one of his brothers. Faceless, numberless, anonymous. And tried to imagine why and how a Horde clone could ever even think to betray their Brother. Zero-Zero-Three didn’t think it was possible. Horde Prime was the Empire, to betray the Empire was to betray Horde Prime and vice-versa. What defect in programing could lead to such… heresy –for lack of a better word. 

Zero-Zero-Three stood there for so long, in fact, that Red Hord had to pull him by the arm. “C’mon, let’s get some gray rations.”

He allowed the other clone to pull him through the hub to the canteen district. A corridor lined with kiosks and stalls dispensing food. Alien dishes for those that lived in Capital Core to serve the Empire. Creatures that took advantage of the fact that it was the Core of the Empire, and bartered for foodstuffs from cargo freighters. Grilled vegetables, freeze-dried meats, powdered grains, and boiled roots. Red Hord pulled Zero-Zero-Three past all of this, uninterested. Horde clones had no taste for non-processed foods and preferred the flavorless ration bars provided to them by the Imperial canteen. 

The Imperial canteen was decidedly absent of alien dinners. Anyone who was eating from the Imperial canteen was a clone. 

The moment their brothers noted that it was a cabinet Lord striding through, they immediately moved out of the way, some of them even humbling themselves with a polite bow. Zero-Zero-Three used to do the same thing until just recently. Until just recently, he was the same as all their other brothers. But this was not an entirely new experience for him. In fact, walking with Red Hord and watching their other brothers bow out of the way, reminded Zero-Zero-Three of his time serving under Lord Hode and the comparison suddenly made him miss the old clone. 

Clones died all the time. In droves. The loss of a brother should not have been a big deal for him. Zero-Zero-Three should have felt nothing. But, when he was reminded of Hode, he felt an uncomfortable sensation of… something missing. Something that he’d assumed would always be there and took for granted but was now inexplicably gone. Zero-Zero-Three didn’t know what word to call this feeling. The appropriate vocabulary hadn’t been programmed into him for this kind of sensation. None of the 47 languages the clones of Horde Prime were programmed with seemed to include something to describe what he felt. ‘Loss’ didn’t quite seem to cover it. ‘Bereft’ maybe, but it still felt off. 

Then movement out the corner of his eye caught his attention and Zero-Zero-Three looked up, forgetting thoughts of his incomplete language programming. 

He looked up, eyes scanning the corridor they’d just stepped through, sure he must have been mistaken. Sure his defects were manifesting again and his eyes were playing tricks on him. 

A figure weaving between the aliens of the canteen district. A figure wearing a dark cape and a hood. The hood throwing their face into shadow so that no expression –or even identity- could be seen. 

Without even making the conscious decision to, Zero-Zero-Three left Red Hord’s side to follow the hooded figure. It couldn’t be. Academically, Zero-Zero-Three knew he must have been mistaken. But his feet still led him to follow.

Red Hord looked up when the younger clone dashed away, sprinting after someone in the crowd. Maybe it was true what he’d heard about his brother. The man was not smart. Red Hord took a bite of gray ration bar and watched Zero-Zero-Three sprint through the crowd, terrifying every alien he passed, and irritating every clone brother. 

Zero-Zero-Three followed that dark cloak to an almost deserted part of the station. Pipes and boiler tanks, rust and steam. Dim lights, low hanging cables, poor visibility. 

“Wait!” Zero-Zero-Three was almost on top of the hooded figure by the time he realized that, no, this was not Hode. 

The figure paused, finally turning around. 

He still couldn’t see their face, but they were much too short to be a clone of Horde Prime. All of Zero-Zero-Three’s brothers were the same height. His height. But this hooded figure only came up to about the clone’s collarbone. Too short to be Hode. 

Their face was hidden, but the cape parted enough for Zero-Zero-Three to catch a glimpse of the body underneath it. 

Steel toed boots with mean-looking horns that might have been decorative, except they could do some serious damage if a being were kicked with them. Metal grieves that went up to the knee, but no combat stockings or other such armor. Bare skin exposed to the air, blue, but not clone blue. Horde clones’ skin was more of a gray-blue, while this was closer to azure or jewel-blue. An alien blue. A leather, studded, and armored loincloth hung from narrow hips. The chest was just as bare and exposed as the thighs. Displaying more azure blue skin, pulled tight over toned and sculpted muscles. Hard abdominals and chiseled pectorals. A pair of crossed belts, like bandoliers, but without weapons crossed over that impossibly muscular chest, with a motif of bones for decoration. 

That was all Zero-Zero-Three could see. Everything else was concealed by the hood and cape. 

This wasn’t Hode. 

But it was an alien that was standing in what definitely looked like what should be a restricted area of Kurgrad. 

“Who are you?” Demanded the clone. 

The hooded figure did not answer immediately. The head tilted up, the folds of the hood pulling back just enough to expose a square, bone colored chin. 

Then Zero-Zero-Three heard a familiar squawk and all thoughts of the mysterious alien he mistook for Hode vanished from his mind. 

Hode’s deamon fluttered down from the pipes and cabling above their heads. The tiny android landed on the hooded figure’s shoulder. If Hode’s deamon trusted this alien then perhaps they were not an intruder. The alien nodded at the deamon, as if telling him ‘it’s okay, go ahead’, before the android flapped its wings again and fluttered over to Zero-Zero-Three. Unconsciously, the clone reached a talon up to scratch under the deamon’s chin as if it were an organic being. 

“Hode wished him to be given to you.” Said the hooded figure. Voice high in pitch, almost screechy, and very very nasal. The voice did not entirely seem to fit the body it issued from. 

Zero-Zero-Three looked back at the alien. “You knew Lord Hode?”

“Intimately.” Confessed the figure. 

But Zero-Zero-Three had never heard his Lord mention any alien allies he might have. Certainly none that he would know intimately enough to entrust his deamon to. Unless…

Unless this hooded figure who would not show their face was lying. Red Hord did say that Hode’s deamon disappeared upon Hode’s death. What if Hode did not entrust his deamon to this alien, what if he stole it from the Empire. Lord Hode did store countless files of information inside the small android. Even added extra memory to him to accommodate it all. 

But the deamon did not seem like a hostage being released. 

In any event, Lord Hode’s deamon had been found. Even if Zero-Zero-Three wasn’t already about to be promoted to the cabinet, this would be a feat worthy or earning favor from the Emperor. “Horde Prime will be relieved you’ve been found.”

At that statement, the deamon did look concerned. He gave a squawk of disagreement and hopped off Zero-Zero-Three’s shoulder to flutter back to the hooded alien. 

The alien only sighed. The sound issuing from the shadows of the hood carrying nothing but disappointment, and for some reason, Zero-Zero-Three was reminded of Hode’s ear-droop when he asked the younger clone ‘what is the Empire’. 

“Hode was right, you are a slow learner.” He said. “Imp will stay with me until you’re ready for him.”

“Imp?” Echoed the clone. Androids can’t choose their own names. 

“When you’re ready, come to Eternia.” Continued the hooded figure. “Imp will be waiting for you on Snake Mountain.”

…

A strand of course, messy brown hair had fallen over the front of Catra’s headdress and she had to brush it out of the way with a sigh. Her heart was still pounding and her side still hurt from her fight with Hordak. But she won. She was still Boss Catra of the Crimson Wastes. She was still on top. 

Now she just had to figure out what she was going to do now. 

The previous She-Ra’s mysterious First Ones weapon was a bust. With Hordak gone, and Entrapta probably already dead on Beast Island, the only other people on Etheria capable of working with First Ones tech were with the Rebellion. They wouldn’t help her. Not even if she asked nicely. So, what was she going to do now…? What came next? What did she… want…?

What was that running across the sand towards the ship?

“Catra~a!” Adora came from out of literally nowhere! “For the Honor of Grayskull!”

And punched her in the face with a golden, glowing fist. 

But Adora wasn’t alone. Fast behind her were Bow and Scorpia. So, she decided the betray Catra after what happened in Entrapta’s old lab. Fine. That was fine. Catra didn’t need Scorpia. Just like she didn’t need Shadow Weaver, or Hordak. She didn’t need Adora either. Catra didn’t need anyone!

Entrapta’s bot, Emily, came up next, being helped up the dune by Adora’s talking horse. Of course, the robot would side with the Princesses after what she did to the tech Princess. Emily probably wanted revenge for what was done to her creator. 

Behind Emily was some kind of creature. Catra had to rub her eyes. There must be sand in them or something. Or maybe She-Ra’s punch gave her a concussion. It looked like Hordak. A child-Hordak, running up to her. Imp flapping next to them. But that couldn’t be right. Hordak was dead –or, would be dead very soon, she had no idea how long it took a creature like him to bleed out- and Hordak had no children of his own before they left the Fright Zone. What was this thing?

All thoughts of the mysterious and inexplicable child-Hordak went out of Catra’s head, however, when she saw the final member of their part run up. “Entrapta!? But- you’re dead-!”

“Catra! Hey!” Entrapta paused, unsure how she was supposed to act now. She thought Catra was her best friend. According to her Interpersonal Relationship Algorithm, Catra was her best friend. But then, Catra tazed her in the back and shipped her to Beast Island, so… maybe the data was wrong. Entrapta didn’t know what to do. “Did you come to see the First Ones ship too?”

Frozen for a moment, Catra just stared at the other woman. If she had arrived just a little bit sooner, just a little bit, that whole fight with Hordak could have been avoided. She would have had two frustrating nerd to fix her ship for her and it probably would have gotten done in a day with Entrapta. Now… with Entrapta’s precious ‘lab partner’ bleeding out and probably already dead by now, there was no way the tech Princess was going to help her. 

That didn’t even cover all the others that came with her. All of whom looked like they were out for Catra’s blood –Adora included. 

Catra locked eyes with Adora –with She-ra. She hated that glowing aura, that long golden hair, that all white uniform that never seemed to get dirty no matter what kind of fight she was in. Princess. Ugh! Catra hated it. If Adora had never become She-Ra, none of this would have ever happened! Catra felt more than heard a hiss escape her throat. How dare Adora do this to her!

Her hands balled into fists at her sides and the Frist Ones crystal she ripped out of Hordak’s armor slipped from her fingers. 

Entrapta was the only one to notice it when it fell in the sand. 

“What’s that?” Before anyone else could move, she had slithered over with her hair and scooped the item up out of the sand. 

Then she froze. 

Recognizing it instantly. 

“This- this is-“ A tendril of hair slithered up to try and lower her welding mask over her face, but it was trembling and did not connect. Her mask stayed up, allowing everyone to see her expression as her brain tried desperately to process information and emotions she did not know how to process. “I gave this to Hordak.”

But Scorpia told her he died. 

If Hordak died in the Fright Zone, what was his crystal doing here?

She looked up at the scorpion woman. “Where’s Hordak?”

“I’m Hordak.” Dak tried to remind her. 

But she wasn’t listening to them. Her gaze shifted from Scorpia to Catra. Eyes wide, but pupils small, brows down at a sharp angle. Her hair lashed out, intertwining around Catra’s body. Holding the other woman immobile and lifting her up off the sand. Entrapta slammed the younger woman against the exterior plating of the First Ones ship. “Where’s Hordak!?”

Catra groaned, gritting her teeth. She’d never seen Entrapta act this way before and she had no idea what to do. How did one talk one’s way out of being strangled by the magical hair of a Princess that couldn’t tell the difference between a forbidden Sanctum belonging to an evil overlord, and fun workplace where she hung out with a gloomy goth cyborg? 

“Pro-probably dead by now.” Catra managed to squeeze out, Entrapta’s hair really was holding her tightly. Like, really tightly. Like, getting hard to breath, shadows behind the eyes, tightly. 

“But he was alive!” Entrapta pressed. She needed accurate data. She needed to know. People had a tendency to make vague statements and just assume that she would understand. She did not understand. She was missing whatever it was that everyone else had that allowed them to understand and communicate with each other. She needed explicitly clear statements. “How recently was he alive?”

Catra gasped for air. Entrapta was holding her so tight. It was supposed to be morning. The Glow Moon was high in the sky. Why was everything so dark?

“Entrapta!” That was Adora’s voice. Why did Adora sound so far away? Why did Adora sound scared?

“Entrapta, let her go! Please!” That was Scorpia. 

Why did all of them sound so far away? 

Then the pressure constricting her was gone and Catra fell to the sand. 

Gasping. 

She lay on her back, breathing hard. Filling her lungs with oxygen as long snake-like bruises formed on her skin where Entrapta’s hair had constricted her. Her vision began to clear and she was inexplicably reminded of the way Hordak had choked her by sucking all the oxygen out of the room. Entrapta almost killed her, she realized. Catra didn’t think Entrapta could be capable of something like that. She was a Princess, after all. 

She and Hordak were suited for each other. 

Catra laid in the warm sand. She was alive. But still so inexplicably tired. 

“Inside.” She finally answered. “Hordak’s bleeding out inside.”

Catra’s eyes were already closed, she passed out before Entrapta had time to jerk her way out of Scorpia’s arms and dash inside the ship. 

As Catra said, he was inside. A long, thin body playing prone on the floor. A wide pool of dark purple blood had pooled around his head and shoulders, leaking from deep gashes in his neck. Catra must have cut his species’ equivalent of the jugular vein with her claws. 

Putting most of her weight on her hair, not caring that she got the sensitive strands soaked in blood, Entrapta hovered over him. She hesitated for a moment. But, it was Hordak, her Lab Partner. Her… she didn’t know the appropriate term. Scorpia was her Best Friend, but the way she felt about Hordak… he was also very special to her, just in a different way. He was her ‘Extra Friend’? She shook her head. Terminology and classifications could come later, she had to assess his condition right now. 

Setting her misgivings aside, Entrapta peeled one of her gloves off. 

She pressed two fingers to the side of his neck that was not open and leaking vital fluids. 

At first, she thought Catra was right. That she was too late. That he had bled out. That Hordak was dead. 

But just as she was about to pull her hand away, she felt the slightest of pulses. One small ‘ba…bump’. It was faint. Perhaps just the last impotent beat. It wasn’t like there was much left in him to pump. But it gave Entrapta hope. If she could just get some fresh blood in him from a compatible donor… 

“Mother…?” 

Entrapta looked up. 

Dak, the clone she made of Hordak, had followed her into the ship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh! And if y'all are a little confused by the chapter title, the last time Zero-Zero-Three saw Hode was right here:
> 
> _The traitor on display was a Horde clone. _
> 
> _He stood there, staring at the body of one of his brothers. Faceless, numberless, anonymous._
> 
> Have a good night!


	22. A Brief Reunion

Hordak didn’t know where he was.

For half a moment, he wondered if another portal had opened up and inexplicably transported him to yet another alien planet. This did not look like any of the places on Etheria he’d ever seen. 

He stepped through thick mists, swirling with color. Feeling lighter on his feet than he’d ever felt before in his life. Almost as if he were floating. 

The pain in his face and in his neck was gone, not even the ghost of sensation there. As if he’d never been wounded by Catra in the first place. And when he reached a hand up to touch his face, he felt only healthy skin. Not dry and waxy as he had been for decades now, but soft and supple. Smooth. Without scars. 

Music drifted to his ears from somewhere beyond the mists. A familiar haunting melody, though it took Hordak a moment to place where he’d heard it before. He listened to so little music in his lifetime. Mostly just what he overheard on alien worlds, what his own Etharian troops sang or played, and… and what Hode insisted his Force Captains should hear to understand an enemy. 

That was where Hordak had heard this song before. 

From Hode.

He followed the sound. As he drew closer, words became discernable from the melody. 

“…And salvation, uncertain.  
“Redemption to find worth in.  
“Have all I’ve slain deserved it?”

Lyrics to a song Hordak was sure he’d only heard once. But it was during a significant meeting. And as he drew closer, he began to recognize the voice that sang it. 

“From ashes, resurgence  
“To cleanse this ‘verse or burn it-“

It was his own voice, only slightly different. To the untrained ear, all Horde clones spoke with the same voice. But this one, to any other Horde clone, would sound different. This voice had trained itself for pitch and octave, to carry a tune and make… art. The kind of auditory art called music. 

“My Lord.” Hordak blinked as the swirling colors of the mist that surrounded them parted to reveal his old mentor. 

Lord Hode. Whom was very, very dead. Wearing the uniform Hordak always remembered him wearing, a tight combat suit with vintage overpants, simple boots, and arm bracers. But the emblem of the Horde was missing from the chest. He was wearing his long dark cape, but the hood was down. Hordak could see Hode’s face. He saw his Lord with the hood down so rarely.

The fact that Hordak was meeting Hode again could only mean one thing. “Catra killed me.”

Hode placed his hand flat over the strings of the instrument he played, to silence the sound. He laid the neck of the alien instrument across his lap and regarded the younger clone –although, ‘young’ was not quite so accurate anymore. The age gap between them had narrowed since Hode’s death, while Hordak remained alive and continued to age. 

“By the Host, Zero-Zero-Three, you’re even thinner than the last time I saw you!” Hode observed. 

Hordak flushed. Or, rather, he felt the sensation in his face that usually meant the color was rising in his cheeks. Being dead and all, he didn’t know if he actually could flush self-consciously anymore. His blood did not flow, why should the blood rise in his cheeks? Instead of offering excuses for his waif-like frame, he instead decided to correct his former Lord on his designation. He wasn’t a number anymore. He had a name. 

“Hordak.”

“’Hordak’.” He echoed. “Terrible name. But if it’s yours it’s yours. Who am I to tell a brother what he should or shouldn’t name himself.” 

Not knowing what to say to that, Hordak decided to ignore the comment. Instead he looked around them. Mist, and clouds, undulating with color. This certainly resembled a metaphysical realm. But it was not what Hordak was expecting from a world for the dead. It was not what he was expecting for the world of their dead. 

“Where are all our brothers?” He asked. “Where are the legions of the All High Host?”

“Ah, that.” Hode leaned back. Although, what he was leaning on was a bit unclear. Unless the mist around him suddenly gained more solid substance to support his weight. Did they even weigh anything anymore? Being dead and all. “We did not go to join the All High Host.” He said as if this explained everything. “Instead we came here. This is the place for waiting.”

“Waiting?” Echoed Hordak. “Waiting for what?”

Hode looked at him a little confused. As if he didn’t understand why Hordak wouldn’t understand why he was here and not with the Host. “You’re the one who came here, Zero-Zero-Three. You tell me.”

…

At first, she thought Catra was right. That she was too late. That he had bled out. That Hordak was dead. 

But just as she was about to pull her hand away, Entrapta felt the slightest of pulses. One small ‘ba…bump’. It was faint. Perhaps just the last impotent beat. It wasn’t like there was much left in him to pump. But it gave the Princess hope. If she could just get some fresh blood in him from a compatible donor… 

“Mother…?” 

Entrapta looked up. 

Dak, the clone she made of Hordak, had followed her into the ship.

She looked around. This was a vessel meant for travel between worlds. It had to have some kind of medical room. A highly advanced medical room, where she could find the kind of tech she would need to do a transfusion.

“Pick him up and follow me!” She commanded.

“Him?” The hybrid blinked at her for a moment, not understanding. “The body? But, its dead.”

“He’s not dead!” Entrapta snapped. He couldn’t be dead. She felt a beat. A single beat of his heart. If his heart could still beat then he wasn’t dead. Besides, even if the heart had stopped beating by this point, he would’ve still been alive recently enough for her to save him and bring him back. “Carry him for me while I look for this place’s infirmary.”

Entrapta dashed out of the bridge without even looking to see if Dak was following her orders. 

She found the writing on the walls. The geometric shapes of the First Ones sigils intersecting with others. Entrapta couldn’t read all of it, but she understood enough to know which lines to follow down the corridors to find the Infirmary. She almost missed the Infirmary door, however, passing right by the seem in the wall where the door fit in the frame. In fact, she would have missed it entirely if the LUVD crystal in her hand hadn’t glowed as she passed. Entrapta doubled back, holding the crystal up. 

Apparently, this First Ones ship recognized the crystal as belonging to an Administrator of sorts. A fact she would have found fascinating and in need of further examination and study. However, at the moment, her priority was not new discovery and knowledge. At the moment her priority was saving the life of the best –and only- Lab Partner she’d ever had. 

With the door open Entrapta disappeared into the Infirmary, only to stick her head back out again to see if her Intern had followed her directions and was bringing Hordak Sr. They were, Entrapta needn’t have worried. Dak was determined to please her –something she had been desperate to do for her own mother, something Hordak was desperate to do for his Big Brother, it seemed to be a unifying trait of the three of them. Dak supported the elder Hordak in their hair, the deceptively strong tendrils wrapping around the larger clone’s body, holding above Dak as they ran, trying to keep his back straight and head level. Entrapta noted that there was no blood dripping from Hordak’s body into Dak’s hair. His blood was not flowing anymore. His heart wasn’t beating. 

At this exact moment, he was technically dead. 

But that didn’t mean he was all the way dead. Just mostly dead! 

If he was just ‘mostly’ dead, that meant he was still partly alive. 

“Put him on the exam table!” Entrapta commanded. She swept her own hair over the table, knocking over packages of sterile wipes, and bottles of what smelled like antiseptic. “Wait a sec!” She held a hand up, a thought occurring to her. With her hair, she poured the antiseptic over the table and wiped the whole surface down with the sterile wipes. “Okay. Now, put him on the table.”

Dak complied. Laying the body down gentle. Lowing their hair, still trying to keep the body level so as not to strain the larger clone’s back, or wrench their neck. The spine was so delicate a part of the frame, yet so dramatically vital to constructing an erect robot. Dak imagined it could only be the same for an organic being like… this Hordak. 

Entrapta looked around the Infirmary. There were machines all around them. Suspended from the ceiling above the exam table, standing independently and fitted on rollers to be moved around the room, fitted into the walls with display screens attached. But none of it was turned on, and Entrapta wasn’t sure how to activate them. 

Every second was precious. The longer Hordak spent –dead- the less likely a chance for a meaningful recovery he had. The difference between ‘mostly dead’ and ‘all the way dead’ was only a few minutes. 

“Entrapta, what are you-?” Adora had followed her as well. 

The older woman all but pounced on her. “Adora! You can work First Ones tech faster than I can. Turn this stuff on! Help me save him!”

“Him?” Adora looked at the body on the exam table. “Hordak? But-“

She did not want to save Hordak. If he was dead, then all of Etheria’s problems were solved. Adora had nothing to lose from his death and everything to gain. Whatever feelings Entrapta had for him were not enough to earn him sympathy in her eyes. Not after what he did to her, both directly and indirectly simply by being on Etheria in the first place. 

“I will not heal him with She-Ra’s sword.” She informed the older woman. 

Entrapta blinked for a moment, her mind stumbling for a moment as it remembered that the Sword of Protection was ancient First Ones tech that the legends said possessed healing properties. She caught herself quickly, understanding the boundary the younger woman just set even if it just made her even hungrier to study She-Ra and the Sword of Protection. That was a matter for the future. 

“Then don’t use the sword.” Entrpata tried to haggle. “Just turn on the equipment in this room. I’ll do everything else. Please.” She was begging now. “Help me save my- -my Lab Partner and I’ll…” she cast her brain around for something she could bargain with. What would Adora want from her? What did anyone ever want from her? The only thing anyone ever wanted from her. “Help me save Hordak and I’ll build weapons for you, and Brightmoon, and the Princess Alliance, for when Horde Prime comes. I imagine you’ll wanna fight him too.”

“W-what-?” Adora took a physical as well as metaphorical step back. “Horde Prime? The other Horde from outside Despondos?”

“What do you think Hordak was trying to do with his portal?” Entrapta raised herself up off the ground, the coils of her hair lifting her up higher than Adora, so that she was glaring down at the younger woman. “He couldn’t pass through, but he could get a message out to his Brother on the other side. Horde Prime will follow that message and open a portal from his side. Wouldn’t you rather be ready when he arrives?”

For half a second, the expression on Adora’s face was pure horror. Then she remembered. “You need a Sword to open a portal.”

In all honesty, Entrapta didn’t know if that was true or not. Certainly, you needed an Administrator Key –a Sword of Power- to open the portal from inside Despondos. But Hordak was also very certain that Horde Prime would be able to open a portal from his side. Entrapta mentally shrugged. She did not have enough data to offer a counter argument. Instead, she just held the younger woman’s gaze. 

There must have been something in Entrapta’s face that convinced Adora that Horde Prime was a valid threat and her offer to help them prepare was a good bargain, because she relented. Ceding to the tech Princess. She uttered a command to the empty air and all the machinery in the Infirmary flared to life. 

“Alien cadaver detected.” Announced a voice that seemed to emanate from the walls themselves. “Would you like to perform an autopsy?”

“No!” Entrapta snapped at the Infirmary celling. “Fix him! Bring him back!”

“Scanning for lifeform match.” Announced the voice. A beam came down from the machinery in the celling, spreading into a line of several as they reached the table. A single horizontal line of light. It scanned down Hordak’s body, then back up it again. “Scanning… scanning… scanning… Match found. Ninety-seven percent accuracy, Revenanti, of planet Revena, beta, fully mature adult, deceased. Would you like to preform an autopsy?”

“No!” Entrapta snarled again, slamming her hair on the exam table. “He’s not dead! He can’t be! I won’t let him! We just need to jumpstart his heart!”

“Initiating defibrillation on Revenanti cadaver.” Announced the room. “Please clear all hands and limbs from the body and table.”

Two tentacle-like cables slithered down from the array in the ceiling above the table and shocked Hordak’s prone body. Shocked it hard enough to trigger involuntary muscle spasms that made it seem like the body were trying to get up. 

…

“You know, this was never the initial plan.” Hode informed him. 

Hordak blinked at him. “What plan?”

“My plan.” The other clone answered as if this explained everything. “Or, our plan, I should say. My partner’s and mine. This wasn’t even the first contingency.”

Taking a moment to –pointedly- glance around at where why were, some version of an afterlife, not the All High Host, but still a realm of the dead. Hordak paused just to make sure his old mentor understood when he stated dryly. “Dying generally is not part of one’s own plans.”

“No. It’s not.” Agreed Hode. “But one must also acknowledge the possibility of dying and make a plan for that as well. As I explained in the message I left for you in my deamon.”

Hordak frowned. “Imp has not played me any message from you.”

Hode looked confused. “I have been dead for many years. My deamon should have played it for you.”

“I only received Imp… recently.” ‘Recently’ being both a relative term, but also an inaccurate one. Hordak was only reunited with his late mentor’s deamon shortly before they were both pulled through a portal and propelled onto Etheria. But that event was thirty Etherian years ago. Approximately fifteen Standard Imperial Years –give or take. Not exactly ‘recently’ at all. 

“He didn’t give you my deamon?” The other clone looked concerned. “My partner, I mean. He was supposed to make sure the deamon went to you upon the event of my death.” 

“If you are referring to the blue alien in the hood, he started to give me Imp, but then quickly deemed me ‘not ready’.” Hordak said with a bit of a snit. “When I saw him again on Eternia, I’m fairly certain he still did not want to give me Imp. But then, Imp and I were pulled into a portal and he was not. So that ended any argument before it could start. But in all the time Imp and I have been on Etheria, he has not tried to play me any message.”

Whatever Hode was going to say died on his tongue. At the mention of the word ‘Etheria’ his mouth dropped open. Staring at the younger clone, disbelieving. “Etheria!? It’s real!? You’ve been to Etheria?”

“Yes.” Confirmed Hordak, confused by his mentor’s sudden fervor. He had certainly never even heard of any planet called ‘Etheria’ before being inexplicably transported to Despondos and crashing on it. “It’s where I died.”

Surprising them both, Hode surged forward, grabbing Hordak’s shoulders with both this hands. “And the other sword! Did you find the other sword!?”

It was all the younger clone could do to blink at his mentor. 

“Other sword?” Hordak only knew about one sword. The Sword of Protection. The sword of She-Ra. The administrator key to the planet. It was actually a little terrifying to imagine there being another one. “There is more than one?”

Hode sighed, leaning back from the other clone. He placed the heel of his hand to his forehead and gave a self-deprecating laugh. “He was right. Of course, this does us no good now. Even if you were alive, you couldn’t wield the sword. Only a descendent of King Grayskull can wield a Sword.”

What could either of them do with this information now?

Nothing. That’s what. The dead could do nothing.

They lapsed into silence. 

Hode picked his instrument back up and began plucking a tune. 

The Horde had no instruments and sang no songs. But Hode did. He collected art from multiple races, played at least two instruments that Hordak knew of, and sang. Hode was different from an average Horde clone. Not different like Hordwing was different, or different like he himself was different. Hode was atypical. 

“My Lord, may I ask a question?” He began. 

Talons stilled over the strings, the last few notes fading into the mist around them. “What’s troubling you?”

Hordak actually had so many questions. He opened his mouth to ask one. 

But was suddenly cut off when he felt something inexplicably jerk him. His whole body being pulled off his feet. Did he even still have a body? He was sort of floating in a world for the dead. The term ‘body’ was relative. It was like an electric shock, like being punched in the heart. Only instead of knocking him back, it was pulling him away. 

…

“Initiating defibrillation on Revenanti cadaver.” Announced the room. “Please clear all hands and limbs from the body and table.”

Two tentacle-like cables slithered down from the array in the ceiling above the table and shocked Hordak’s prone body. Shocked it hard enough to trigger involuntary muscle spasms that made it seem like the body were trying to get up. 

“Insufficient erythrocytes.” Declared the voice. 

“He needs blood!” Entrapta snarled. Erythrocytes were the cells in blood that carried oxygen –or, in the case of Hordak’s species, nitrogen. Hordak didn’t just need blood, he need blood from a member of his own species. She turned towards Dak. “He needs you.”

“M-me?” Dak blinked glowing eyes. Apart from the color, they were identical to Hordak’s own. Although they couldn’t know that since Hordak’s eyes were currently half-lidded, the nictitating membrane of his second eyelid covering most of it, and the color was muted and dark without the bioluminescent glow behind it. 

“Entrapta! No!” Adora was horrified.

“What’s going on?” Bow and Scorpia pushed their way into the room. 

Scorpia carrying an unconscious but still very much alive Catra in her arms. 

Bow being the unwilling perch for Imp as the little deamon surveyed the scene. 

“Mother wants to give my blood to this Hordak.” Dak announced. 

“Wait, what?” Scorpia was taken aback. She thought Entrapta and little Dak were making progress and bonding. At least, it seemed like they were bonding back on Beast Island in the First Ones command room. Then, on the ship with the songs… Was she wrong? Scorpia looked down at Catra in her arms. Reminding herself that her recent experiences with people she previously thought were close friends had taught her that she really did not read people as well as she thought she did. 

Perched atop Bow’s head, Imp opened his mouth to remind everyone of what Dak was, and what their purpose for existing was. “Clone.”

“You can’t just take out all a person’s blood!” Adora announced. “People need their blood in their bodies!”

“Dak is just a child!” Scorpia reminded the tech Princess. “Dak still has things they can do. Hordak is old. He’s lived his life and made his choices. Just- -let him go.”

“I won’t!” Entrapta shouted at all of them. “You- out of all of you, Hordak was the only one who didn’t treat me differently. Hordak never said ‘Entrapta, no’, or ‘you can’t’. Hordak never tried to stifle my creativity or curiosity. He never talked down to me like each and every one of you has done. I’m twenty-seven years old, I’m almost thirty. I am the oldest person in this room –except for Hordak himself- and you all treat me like I’m some sort of child! But Hordak never did that! The only time he ever said ‘no, don’t’ was when he was pulling me out of the way of an explosion. I may not have knowing him for very long, but in the time that I did know him, he was a better friend to me than any of you! Scorpia might be my Best Friend, but Hordak is- Hordak is… my Special Friend!”

Everyone was struck silent by this announcement. 

Adora knew Entrapta had feelings for the dark Lord of the Horde. She saw the word etched on his First Ones crystal the day the portal was opened. And she created a clone hybrid of the two of them. At the time, Adora had thought of Dak as more of a ‘child’ between them. To spite hearing the recordings in Entrapta’s own voice to the contrary. But now she was realizing that her own perceptions of Entrapta’s relationship with Hordak and the reality of Entrapta’s relationship with Hordak were on two very different levels of depth. Entrapta was willing to sacrifice a child if it meant bringing Hordak back. 

“Now, we’re wasting precious time!” Entrapta snarled. “Dak, get on the table and give me your arm.”

Dak might be a child in all their eyes. But, to Entrapta, they were just another one of her experiments. Like a robot, but organic instead of mechanical. 

“You can’t!” Still holding Catra, Scorpia tried to place her body between Entrapta and the hybrid. 

“Move!” Entrapta snarled at her. 

Imp screeched an agreement with the Princess. He wanted to see master saved as well. 

For half a moment, Scorpia looked almost as betrayed by Entrapta as she did by Catra. She crossed an ocean for this woman. Broke into a Horde prison for this woman. Left the Horde for this woman. And she was trying to cut open and bleed out a child. Not just any child, but a child that Scorpia had pulled out of the abandoned cloning tank. A child that Scorpia breathed life into herself. A child she brought out of the Fright Zone. Dak wasn’t her child, not really. But she felt an affection for them that was most definitely familial, if not entirely maternal. 

“Do we need all his blood?” Bow cut in suddenly. 

Everyone turned to stare at him. Hordak was such a large person and Dak was so small in comparison. Not only would they need all of Dak’s blood, they might actually need more than Dak’s blood. 

“I mean, we’re standing in a First Ones ship.” He reminded them all. “The First Ones have technologies so advanced, they honestly seem like another kind of magic. Why don’t we see if they can synthesize blood for Hordak? We’ll use Dak’s living blood as a sample, but a sample shouldn’t need very much. You can save Hordak without harming Dak.”

Adora nodded. Not fully understanding what Bow was trying to say, but understanding that it was a solution that would keep Entrpata from draining the child that helped them through their most recent adventures. “Ship, make more blood using a sample from Dak.”

“Command not recognized.” Announced the voice of the Infirmary. 

“Try, ‘synthesize viable blood from adolescent sample’.” Entrapta suggested.

“O… kay…” Adora didn’t fully understand all the words in the strung together sentence, but when she repeated it, the ship’s computer seemed to understand. 

A syringe lowered itself from the ceiling array on another cable-tentacle. Entrapta held Dak’s arm straight and helped the automated machine find a vein. It filled the syringe with thirty milliliters of blood. There was another pause as the machinery and computer analyzed the sample. Then another needle, this one on an intravenous tube, came down from the ceiling. This time aiming for Hordak’s immobile body. Entrapta guided this one into the vein as well. Blood started flowing into the body, but it did not circulate. His heart was still inactive. There was nothing to pump the synthetic blood for him. 

“Shock him again!” Entrapta ordered.

“Do the shocking thing again.” Adora commanded the Infirmary. 

“Command not recognized.” The computer voice informed them. 

“Try defibrillate.” Bow suggested. 

“Defibrillate.” Adora tried. 

“Defibrillating Revenanti cadaver.” The computer complied. It was an AI, but the disembodied voice still had a tone as if it didn’t understand why the Administrator and these other organic beings were bothering trying to revive a corpse. “Please clear all hands and limbs from table.”

It shocked his heart again. Then again. And a third time. Each shock forcing his hear to beat at least once. Making it pump the synthetic blood through out his body. Carrying fresh nitrogen to his brain. 

“Clear.”

…

Hode reached a hand out to the younger clone, not sure what he could do for his brother. 

Hordak clawed at the older man’s outstretched hand, wrapping his long taloned fingers around his wrist, holding tight. The other hand clutched at his heart. “What is happening to me!?”

“I don’t- I don’t know!” Hode had to admit. Zero-Zero-Three might think that he had all the answers, but in fact, Lord Hode knew about as much or as little as any other soldier in the universe. “Maybe… maybe you’re not all the way dead? Maybe you’re just mostly dead.”

“What does that-?” He was cut off then another violent shock pulled him off his feet. He was being pulled away. Pulled back. But back where he didn’t know. “What does that mean!?”

Hode loosened his own hold of Hordak. Ready to let his brother go back if that was indeed what was happening. “Someone must be trying to save your life.”

“Impossible!” Hordak snarled back. No one living cared about him. Entrapta was on Beast Island and probably already dead. If not dead, then nowhere near his body, certainly not in a position to save his life. He didn’t know where Imp was, but what could that tiny deamon android do? Catra wouldn’t save him, she was the one who killed him. Lord Hode had to be wrong. 

Another violent shock rocked his metaphysical ‘body’, pulling Hordak farther away from Hode. 

The older clone let him go. If back to life was where Hordak needed to go, then that would be where he would let him go. 

“Listen to me, Zero-Zero-Three!” He shouted. “When you go back, you need to reunite Etheria with Eternia! They’re the only thing that can-“ another shock drowned out what Hode said and Hordak missed it. What? What could the two planets do? “-to cleanse the universe or burn it!”

“What?” Hordak called, not understanding. 

“And-“ here, Hode hesitated. “And if you see Keldor, tell him I didn’t join the Host. Tell him I’m waiting for him!”

If Hode wanted to say more, he didn’t get the chance to. With one more violent shock, Hordak was pulled out of the place for waiting and slammed back into his body and his blacked out. Unconscious. 

…

Entrapta leaned back with a relived sigh, watching the monitor. A steady, even heart beat. Hordak was alive. Unconscious and still wounded. But alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dunno why I'm prolonging this... I must secretly hate myself.


	23. When You Wake Up

Rising to consciousness slowly. Acutely aware of body pain. Eyes opening slowly. Groaning. Catra pushed herself up into a sitting position. 

Or rather, she would have pushed herself up into a sitting position if she weren’t tied up and restrained. 

“What the hell!?” Catra exclaimed. 

She looked down at herself. Arms and legs bound together with what looked like First Ones tech. Like the cuffs the Horde used on prisoners, but far more advanced. Catra wasn’t sure she could figure out how to gimmick her way out of them. But it wasn’t just her wrists and ankles, strong cables were also wrapped around her arms and knees so that her range of motion was even further restricted. Whoever had tied her up wasn’t taking any chances. Catra flopped for a moment. Rather like a fish out of water. 

“What is this!?” She demanded of what appeared to be an empty room of the First Ones ship. 

The last thing she remembered was her fight with Hordak. But… she’d won that fight. She left Hordak for dead and walked away. 

No… that wasn’t the last thing she remembered. After leaving Hordak to bleed out, she went outside and… Adora was there. Adora was always there. Of course she was there. Why wouldn’t she be there? But Adora wasn’t alone… Entrpata was with her… Entrapta whom Catra was sure she sent to Beast Island. Entrapta couldn’t be here. In the Crimson Waste. That had to be some sort of hallucination. Shock from her fight with Hordak. 

Except… if Entrapta really was on Beast Island, and was not here in the Crimson Waste, how had python squeezed her until she passed out?

How did Catra end up in her current circumstances?

The door to the room she was in slid open and Scorpia walked in. Scorpia. Catra hadn’t seen her in almost a month. Not since the portal exploded and she fled the Fright Zone. Not since… not since Catra tazed Entrapta in the back when turned that very same tazer on Scorpia and threatened that she’d be next if she didn’t do as Catra said. 

What was Scorpia doing here now?

“Hey… Wild Cat…” She began awkwardly, almost hesitantly. Almost as if Scorpia didn’t really know what to say and was just talking for talking’s sake. She did that a lot. Just talk. Without actually saying anything. “I’m glad Entrapta didn’t kill you. But, ya know what they tell us in basic training, people pass out before they die. Glad you’re awake.”

“Scorpia! I’m so glad you’re here!” Catra plastered a smile on her face, thinking fast. Scorpia always admired her. Scorpia would help her. “Untie me, quick! Let’s get out of here before Adora realizes-“

“Oh… this is awkward…” The other woman sucked in a breath. She scratched the back of her head with one large pincer, unsure of what to say. “See… I kinda… helped Bow tie you up. Apparently, the first time he captured you made him a little overly cautious. Wanted to make sure whatever restraints we used couldn’t be easily cut through. He wanted to gag your mouth too, but I wanted us to be able to talk. I feel like we need to talk.” A pause. “I want to talk.” 

Catra looked away, avoiding the other woman’s eyes. The last time they exchanged words, Catra had a weapon pointed in Scorpia’s face and threatened her. 

She gave a humorless laugh. “Usually, Adora’s the one who tries to make me see the error of my ways.”

Scorpia opened her mouth to say something, then quickly closed it again. She pursed her lips and looked away. “I never really liked Adora. Not that I disliked her, per say… I don’t dislike many people. But… I was jealous of her. How you only ever seemed to care about her. Whenever she showed up on any of our missions, your attention only focused on her. She left us, left the Horde. Defected. Became an enemy. But you would drop everything and focus all your attention and our resources on her.” Scorpia looked off, eyes not really focused on anything. “There was once a time when I wished you would look at me with that level of attention and intensity. I would have cut off my own tail for that…”

“But not now.” Catra finished the part of the statement Scorpia left unsaid. 

The other woman looked almost heartbroken. “No.” She agreed. “Not now.”

An uncharacteristic silence lapsed between them. Catra could barely remember a time when she and Scorpia were in the same room together and the scorpion Princess didn’t fill the air with her chatter. Now, here they were, Catra tied up and no where to go. At Scorpia’s mercy. Scorpia said she wanted to talk. 

But she was silent. 

“Where’s Adora?” Catra finally asked, if for no other reason to break the silence. 

“And you’re still asking about her…” Scorpia shook her head. “I… I didn’t think I should tell you this, but, since you asked… Adora’s not gonna come to see you. I mean, she’s gonna help Bow gag you and strap you to Swift Wind so they can take you back to Brightmoon. But she’s not gonna talk to you. She’s- she says she’s ‘so done’ with you. She did not elaborate.”

Catra looked down, remembering Adora’s eyes, and the look she gave her after they came back from the portal. When Hordak’s Sanctum was crumbling and they had to run. Catra hung back to get one last look at Adora, to flash her a trademark smirk and taunt. But when she looked at Adora, she didn’t see the face of her best friend. The woman she grew up with. The woman who had always been there all her life. The woman she- -the woman who was always a significant source of feelings in her life. 

Instead, all Catra saw was the face of an enemy. Glaring at her with eyes full of –not hatred- but resolve. Cold. Unfeeling. Resolute. Resolve. Adora was done with her. Adora was done caring. Adora was done trying to get her to change and see the error of her ways. Adora was done. 

Adora had given up on her…

Clinching her teeth, Catra felt the pressure of tears beading in her eyes and she closed them as if that could keep herself from crying. 

Adora was done with her. 

“And what about you?” Catra asked, voice cracking just noticeably. “Are you done with me too?”

“I… would like to be.” Scorpia finally admitted. “After what you did to Entrapta… after you threatened me the same way…” she bit her lip, unsure of what she wanted to say, exactly… “We could have been happy, ya know! You and me! Just the two of us. Here. In the Crimson Waste. You were Boss. You had a gang. You had power, and influence. Control over your own life. We could have just stayed here! We could have been together and we could have been happy!” That last word was more snarled than spoke. “But you don’t want to be happy. Or you don’t know how. I donno what it is, but you… you don’t make smart decisions, Catra.”

The other woman scoffed. Unimpressed. “That’s your big revelation. The orphan girl raised to be a child soldier doesn’t make smart decisions. Wow. Really deep.”

“I was raised as a child soldier too.” Scorpia reminded her. “And so was your precious Adora. And so was Lonnie, and Rogelio, and Kyle. But we all make better decisions than you seem to. Lonnie is Commander of the Horde now. She’s ruling the Fright Zone, and –from what I saw- she’s doing a pretty decent job of it too. Kyle and Rogelio are helping. They’re being constructive. I don’t like Adora, but she has built and maintained meaningful relationships. She has true friends. But what do you have, Catra? What have you done? Our hard upbringings have made us strong, but what have you done with that strength? You have harmed yourself more than any other person, and you’ve chased away the people who would otherwise be there to help you.” 

Catra continued to pout. Unimpressed. “So, what do you expect me to do. Break down and cry. Proclaim that I’ve seen the error of my ways. Promise to be a better person.” She gave a derogatory laugh. 

Scorpia just shook her head, looking somber. Regretful. “You’re not gonna get to do anything, Wild Cat.” She informed the other woman. “Bow and Adora are taking you back to Brightmoon. They’re gonna keep you in the new prison they built there until your trial. I don’t know what trials are like in Brightmoon, but… if it was the Fright Zone, you would definitely definitely be executed.” 

“Adora won’t let me die.” Catra swore. But her voice was hallow. Even she didn’t believe Adora would save her. Not this time. Not anymore. Not after the portal. Adora was done with her. 

“I don’t know what’s gonna happen to you.” Scorpia told her. “I’m going with Entrapta back to Dryl, but I’ve told Bow that I wanna speak at your trial. I’ll defend you. But, it would help your case if you… made an effort to not be so terrible.”

Catra laughed. Cackled, actually. Finding humor in the suggestion. “Oh, okay. I’ll just change my whole personality then. That’ll save my life.”

Pursing her lips, Scorpia decided not to comment that Catra basically just admitted to having a terrible personality. Instead, she looked away. “I’m going to help you, Catra, but I’m also going to abide by whatever decision this trial makes. I can’t save you.” She stood to exit the room. “We’re gonna keep you in here until everyone’s ready to leave. Still tied up, of course. Don’t want you shocking anyone else in the back. Shout if you need to pee or something. I can help you with that.”

She left. 

Catra was left alone. 

With her thoughts. 

…

Entrapta watched the monitors carefully. Heart rate, blood pressure, repertory function, nitrogen levels in the bloodstream, neural function. Everything read normal for a ‘mature adult Revenanti beta’ –which Entrapta assumed was the alien species Hordak was cloned from. 

Imp petered around. Fluttering on his wings, or lurking in the cables in the ceiling. Always keeping his master in his line of sight. Master was alive. But he wasn’t awake, and he was still injured. Master couldn’t heal on his own. It was part of his defects. Wounds did not close on their own. Tissues did not repair themselves. Skin did not knit back together. 

Leaning over the exam table, Imp chittered with concern. 

“The machines are doing their job.” Entrapta informed him, not looking up from where she was adjusting the flow of a saline drip. “This really is the most advanced medical technology I’ve ever seen. It must have been amazing when it was still new and fully functional.”

Dak also lurked close to the body on the table. Not interfering with the machinery, but still sticking close. Staring at the other Hordak. Examining the pointed ears, high forehead and strong brow ridge, and vertical nasal cavity, thin lips, and square chin. All features Dak themself had. “He looks like me.”

“You look like him.” Entrapta corrected. 

Dak lowered their eyes. Things with Mother were awkward from the first moment, but after she asked them to give some of their blood for the older Hordak… Bow and Scorpia seemed to think it was a much more significant demand than it was. All Mother took was only a few milliliters. They were acting like she was going to… kill them. Dak didn’t know what to think. 

“This is the Hordak I was made for.” They were more reminding themself than speaking to Entrapta. This was the being they were made for. A clone of this Hordak. A spare body. Never meant to gain conscious thought of their own. Never meant to develop an identity. Never meant to be themself. Only a spare for Hordak. 

“Yes.” Entrapta nodded, she lowered her welding mask over her face, although she was not welding anything at the moment and there was no need for the mask to be down. “And you helped me save him.” 

For some reason, this did not seem to please the young hybrid. “It’s what I was made for.”

Imp fluttered over to perch on the clone’s head and give a reassuring squawk. Sure, they were made for a purpose. To serve another. But so was the original Hordak, and so was Hode. So were all the clones of Horde Prime. So were just clones in general. But something that Imp had learned through his own experiences with multiple clones, was that they were still their own people. Independent from what they were created for. Hode made his own decisions and forged his own alliances. Hordak built his own Empire and inspired his own singular friendship. Dak could do those things too. They were still young. All they needed was time. 

Then the Hordak on the table groaned, and everyone forgot their own thoughts. All focus shifting to the body in the center of the room. 

…

Clones rarely dreamed. Hordak had only had a handful of dreams in his lifetime. But it always felt strange waking from a dream, as opposed to waking from a dreamless sleep. A strange kind of disorientation. Not knowing what was reality and what was still the last vestiges of the dream clinging to his psyche. 

Hode had been in the dream. And more of that absurd song he performed at their first meeting. Mist and music. A meeting and a parting. Hordak felt like something important happened in the dream, but –now that he was awake- he realized he couldn’t remember. 

Slowly, he opened his eyes. 

An unfamiliar ceiling peered down on him. 

An array of machinery that looked similar to the kind in a Horde Imperial med bay, but just different enough to be identified as alien technology, not Imperial technology. It took his sluggish brain a few more moments to realize that this was the Infirmary in the First Ones ship. It was First Ones tech staring down at him. Catra must have changed her mind and decided to save his life after nearly killing him. 

A shriek of joy startled Hordak, causing a spike in his heart rate. He tried to turn his head to the familiar sound. If he didn’t know any better, the shriek sounded like Imp. But Imp couldn’t possibly be here! His neck erupted with pain when he tried to turn his head. He was still wounded from Catra’s claws. 

“Don’t move!” Commanded a voice that sounded like Entrapta’s. But that couldn’t be right either. Entrapta was on Beast Island. …Or dead. …At least… that’s what Catra told him. But, Catra could not be trusted. Sure enough, the tech Princess drifted into his field of vision. Welding mask over her face, but it was definitely her. She was using her magical prehensile hair to lift herself up over the exam table to peer down at him. “The First Ones tech is knitting synthetic skin graphs into you’re healthy skin to close the wounds. But this tech is old, so its running slow. Try not to move.”

Imp fluttered up and perched in her hair, squawking an agreement at him. Listen to the Princess. She knows what’s good for you. Even if you don’t. 

Hordak just stared up at her. Glowing ruby eyes wide. He tried to reach a hand up to touch her, just to confirm that she was real. But he lowered it before any contact. He was afraid she was a hallucination, or another dream. He just came from meeting his old mentor. Why not see his lost Lab Partner next? 

“You are… here.” He said instead. It was phrased as a statement, but pitched as a question. Was she really here? 

It was impossible to read her expression with her welding mask down. But her voice sounded strained when she replied. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you. I- I got pulled away. Elsewhere…”

‘Pulled away elsewhere.’ Even to Hordak’s still near-death addled brain he heard she was censoring something. ‘Pulled away’, she was taken from him. Taken against her will. Possibly violently. ‘Elsewhere’, Beast Island. Perhaps Catra was not lying when she said that. But Lab Partner could not be contained. His Lab Partner was a force of nature. His Lab Partner did what she wanted, and if she wanted to return to him, she would. 

She did. 

Relaxing on the table, feeling safe in a way he hadn’t felt since he confessed his origin and his defects to this native Princess and she built him new prosthetics to compensate for those deficiencies, Hordak fell back asleep. Allowing himself to rest while the old First Ones tech did what his own body could not do and mended his open wounds. 

Tissues being repaired. What couldn’t be mended with his own body’s resources was replaced with synthetic tissue. After the tissues were repaired, the muscles, the artery walls, and when that was done, it was covered in a layer of skin, also synthetic. Identical to Hordak’s own skin in thickness and texture, but of a different color. He would bear the scars from his encounter with Catra for the rest of his life. More discoloration to add to those caused by his defects. 

This time, when Hordak slept, he did not dream. 

He awoke again feeling refreshed. Healthy. And powerful. 

And rational. 

Entrapta and Imp could not possibly have been here. Seeing then must have been the near-death experience equivalent of a fever dream. If Entrapta truly was sent to Beast Island, as Catra said, then she could not be here in the Crimson Wastes. In fact, she was probably already dead. If Entrpata hadn’t been sent to Beast Island, and had in fact betrayed him for the Princesses, she also would not be here in the Crimson Wastes. No matter what was true, Entrapta could not have been the one to put him in the Infirmary and heal his wounds. 

Catra probably had one of her goons patch him up so that she coud put him back to work.

Except, if he couldn’t figure out First Ones tech, what made him think one of Catra’s desert rat underlings could?

Hordak sat up. 

He was alone in the Infirmary. Hmph. He would have thought Catra would at least post a guard. Foolish. 

Climbing off the table, he got his feet under him and looked around for his exo-suit. It was sitting on a counter next to the monitoring equipment. Someone had restored the First Ones crystal to its place on the collar and repaired the damage from his fight with Catra. Of course, if the former-Force Captain still needed him to work for her, he would need his armor returned to him and functioning. Someone had even gone the extra kilometer and sterilized it for him. The whole frame smelled of antiseptic, inside and out. 

Hordak fastened it on over himself. Snapping everything into place as it was meant to be. When he finally locked the collar, he felt more like himself again. More like how he used to feel back in the Fright Zone before the portal debacle. Not quite ‘healthy’ but certainly ‘able’. 

About to exit the infirmary to face Catra again, Hordak paused. Catching a glimpse of himself reflected in the blank crystal screen of a disused monitor. Turning he stared at his face in the reflection. His body could not heal. Not on its own. So it was not the fact that synthetic skin had been grafted onto his face and neck to close the wounds that was jarring. It was now everything looked all put together. 

Long vertical marks where the gashes Catra opened up on his face and neck used to be. Wide scars, and bold in color. The synthetic skin graphs being a bright violent –not unlike the color of the crystal on his collar. They were a start contrast to the pale skin of his face and the darker gray-blue skin of his neck. They stood out. It wasn’t just that he had scars. It was that the scars to so very… bold. Not just noticeable, but eye-catching. 

When he saw Horde Prime again, his Brother would see the scars first, and him second. 

But then, Prime had a scar on his face too. A long diagonal slash across his face. Although, Prime looked like it had healed naturally. All his own skin and only slightly discolored within what was considered ‘normal’ for scar tissue. This was… not normal. Serviceable, yes. Practical, yes. Life-saving, yes. He would most definitely be dead without them. But not normal. 

What would be tell Prime when his Brother followed his message and opened a portal?

Hordak’s ear twitched when he heard movement outside the Infirmary door. Probably Catra coming back, likely with minions in tow. Hordak braced himself. What would it be now? More intimidation, or another fight?

The door slid open.

“…I know, I just wanna check on-“ The speaker cut herself off abruptly, staring at him. 

Hordak stared back at her. She and her companion where not who he was expecting. Not even considered a possibility. 

“Former-Force Captain Adora.” He nodded, not quite knowing what else to do and wondering if this might be another hallucination brought on by his near-death experience. He saw a vision of Entrapta. Why not the fables She-Ra as well? Hordak stood, his arms folded behind his back at a parade rest and waited for the hallucination to pass. 

“You’re up and moving.” She observed. 

“So it would seem.” He replied, still not convinced she and her companion were real and here. 

“You’re looking well.” Her companion smiled up at him. The Rebel archer Bow always did seem almost pathologically determined to be nice and make friends with everyone. 

Hordak’s lip curled, unsure of how to respond. Did that statement even require a response? Hordak did not believe he looked ‘well’. By the standards of his own people –and probably those of the inhabitants of this rock- he was horribly and irrevocably disfigured. 

There was a pause. 

The last time Hordak saw these two, it was in his Sanctum, and they were fighting. Would they resume that battle now? Destroy this First Ones Infirmary –possibly the whole ship- like they destroyed his lab and base?

“So…” Bow began again, possibly sensing the energy in the room. How Hordak had gone tense anticipating a fight. “This is nice. Us, three former enemies, meeting and talking without pulling out any weapons or throwing… pillars…”

That was a curious statement. Hordak raised one confused brow ridge, peering down at the younger man. Did he say ‘former’ enemies? Hordak was unaware that he had made any treaties with the Rebels, or even just She-ra. 

“Entrapta made a deal for you.” Adora announced. That alone was enough to shock him. Entrapta was alive. She was here. She bargained on his behalf. She hadn’t betrayed him! She did care! “I helped her save you, and we’re not gonna take you back the Brightmoon to answer for your crimes-“ there was a silent ‘yet’ in there “-and in return, Entrapta’s gonna work for us. She bought you your life with her service. I hope she didn’t make a bad deal.”

Adora did not think he was worth it. 

“I’m gonna go get Entrapta.” She announced. “She can take him to Dryl before she comes to Brightmoon. Bow, stay here and keep an eye on him. Now that he’s mobile, I don’t want him left unattended.”

She left. 

There was another pause. 

Bow looked ever so slightly concerned to be left in charge of one of the most dangerous beings in all of Etheria. The archer swallowed a lump of nerves in his throat. 

“You and Entrapta, huh.” He began awkwardly. “I mean, we all knew Entrapta had a thing for you. But, I mean, you looked really happy just now when Adora mentioned that she argued for you, so you gotta like her back, right? That is something I just can’t really see. I mean, I do see it. That’s why I believe it. But, I still can’t really see ut, ya know.” Bow was rambling. “You’re all ‘grr, rawr, arg, big scary Horde Lord’, and she’s like ‘robots, tiny food, First Ones, cute things’. I just… you two don’t seem to… fit…”

Hordak frowned at him. Not understanding. 

“Not that that means you two can’t be together or anything!” Bow was quick to add. “From the outside, my dad’s don’t look like they would fit together either. Ones a well learned scholar who’s devoted his life to studying history and unraveling the mysteries of the First Ones, and the other is a battle hardened and war scarred soldier. From the outside, they don’t seem to have much in common. But, at home, they’re just… two pieces of a whole. They… complete each other. I guess, you and Entrapta must do that for each other too.”

Two pieces that came together to form something greater than the sum of its parts. 

Hordak understood the concept even if he didn’t fully grasp its relevance within the context. 

He was spared having to listen to more of the archer’s rambling when Entrapta burst through the door. 

“You’re up!”

It was her. Really and truly her. All 130 centimeters of body, and a million kilometers of hair. 

She flowed into the room through the door frame, moving on her hair almost like surfing on waves. Tendrils wrapped around him, pulling the clone off his feet. Measurements were taken. His heart beats per minute were counted. The synthetic skin graphs on his face and neck were examined. Hordak felt her breath on his skin and knew she had to be real. This was real. Not a hallucination. She was here. She had healed him. It had to be her. Adora wouldn’t have. Neither would Bow. But Entrapta would. Entrapta did. 

“Fascinating.” She muttered. “Its knitted into you’re natural skin so well. It’s practically seamless. And I like the color.”

Well, at least someone did. Hordak was not quite so pleased with the cosmetic look. But if it kept him alive, it kept him alive. He had learned not to be picky about his life-saving adaptations. 

“The muscles underneath should be similarly repaired.” Continued Entrapta, she was speaking to him, but her attention was focused on the marks. “Move your face.”

He tilted his head to the side. 

“No, I mean, make an expression.” She had to clarify. As much as she had trouble understanding other people, other people had trouble understanding her. Hordak suffered from this less often than others, but that did not make him an exception to this rule. “Move your brows, or your cheeks. Use the muscles in your face. I need to confirm that they’re also healed.”

Obediently, Hordak raised one brow ridge, then the other. Lowered them both in a scowl. Pulled his cheeks back in a mock of a grin. Then turned the corners of his mouth down in a frown. 

“Excellent.” Entrapta nodded with approval. “Bow was right. First Ones medical technology really is on par with Etherian healing magic.”

“You healed me after my battle with Catra.” Hordak confirmed. He did not want to have this conversation with an audience. Especially not a defector and a rebel. But he also needed to know. “But, how did you get here? Catra told me that she sent you to Beast Island.”

To his great surprise –and maybe just a little horror- Entrapta smiled. Wide. “Oh, Hordak, it was amazing!” She announced. “Did you know that the compound was a First Ones outpost when you converted the building into your prison? It’s fascinating. The whole place is an amplifier. Now, at the moment, its non-active. I have a hypothesis that it’s meant to amplify the power of the Runestone network and channel it somewhere. There’s this big mural outside the command room that shows Etheria with another planet inside an big infinity symbol. But there’re no other planets in Despondos. So there’s nowhere for it to channel the magic to. Isn’t it just so exciting!”

Lots of things were exciting right now. All the revelations. Dying. Coming back. Being healed. Confirming that she was still alive. Being reunited. 

Just being around her energy and vivacity again was exciting. 

Hordak was afraid that if he had any more excitement, he might have to sit down. 

Then another voice joined the group. 

Sounding like his own voice. Or, rather, sounding like the voice of any clone brother, only younger. Less mature. Higher in pitch and shallower in octave. A pre-adolescent voice. But also a Horde clone voice. That didn’t make any sense. Horde clones were hatched at the age of full adult maturity. There was no such thing as an ‘adolescent’ clone, and certainly no such thing as something as young as a pre-adolescent. 

“Is he up?” It asked. “I want to meet him.”

Someone pushed their way between Adora and Bow. 

Hordak froze. Not sure what he was seeing. 

It looked like a clone brother. But… also not like a clone brother at all. It looked like how the clones looked when they were still in the tanks. Still going through the process of artificial aging. It looked like a brother that had been taken out of the tank before reaching maturity. But… all his own cloning attempts had failed. So, where did this little brother come from…? 

“Hi. I’m Hordak.” It announced. 

That proclamation sent another shock through his system. How dare this little… creature take his name from him! Names were something very personal for a clone. Only four at any given time were allowed to have their own names. They chose their names themselves. Crafting an identity for themselves. Something that fit them. That was unique to them. Their own. Their name. His name. Lord Hordak. 

“You most certainly are not.” He informed the underdeveloped… brother. 

The smaller creature just blinked up at him, almost as if they didn’t understand. As if no one had told them that they weren’t Hordak. As if this creature just went around calling itself ‘Hordak’ and everyone else on Etheria went along with it. 

Then, the clone did something the elder Hordak did not expect. 

Moving on its own, as if it were an independent limb, no different than an arm or a leg, the clone’s hair coiled under it. It lifted the creature up to be on an eye-level with the elder Hordak. 

“I am Hordak.” They insisted. 

Hordak wasn’t looking at the clone anymore. Or, at least, not at its face. His glowing red eyes were no focused on the creature’s hair. Holding it up in a way very similar to how Entrapta used to use her hair to compensate for the height difference between them. The clone looked like him, but it had Entrapta’s hair. Entrapta’s magic. Not a perfect clone them. A hybrid. An imperfect genetic composite. Of course this had to be Entrapta’s doing. Entrapta made them. She had certain opinions about imperfect. 

“I am Lord Hordak.” He informed the hybrid. 

“I know.” The younger informed him. 

Taken aback, the elder Hordak just stared at the younger. This not-clone, this fake brother, this… this… mongrel, knew there was another Hordak. That the name was in use. That the name belonged to another. And took it anyway. How. Dare. They!

“I was a top general of Emperor Horde Prime’s military.” Hordak announced. “The name ‘Hordak’ was hand crafted by myself for myself and the honor of bearing it was bestowed upon me by Emperor Prime himself. It is my name. You cannot have it. You were not hatched from a crèche in Capital Core. You did not rise up through the ranks of our brothers. You were not publically named by the Emperor. You are just a… just a… I don’t know what you are.”

There was an awkward pause. Adora and Bow watched Dak, apprehensive of the child’s reaction. 

“I’m Hordak.” Insisted the young hybrid. 

“I did not give you permission to use my name.” The older clone informed him. 

“But it’s my name too!” Dak shouted. “Mother made me to be you! I was supposed to be a new body for you. But Scorpia let me out too early, and now I’m me and there isn’t room for me to be you.” 

Hordak just raised a brow at that confusing and absurd explanation. 

“You said you couldn’t clone a new body for yourself.” Entrapta reminded him, taking up the explanation. “So I though I’d give it a try. I isolated the parts of your genetic code that misreplicated –the parts you keep calling ‘defects’- and I cut them out of the sequence. I used my own DNA to fill in the holes and complete the code.” 

“Now…” Here the hybrid hesitated. Lowering themself back to the floor. Feet on the ground, hair coiled behind them. “…Now I’m spare parts for you. To- to help repair your body. Mother used my blood to fix you.” They held out an arm where a cute little green and yellow tiger striped band-aid covered a puncture site. “She took my blood and made more of it to start your heart again.”

“Little Dak saved your life.” Bow announced. “You’re alive now because of them.”

“You’re alive now because capable and compassionate people care more about you than you deserve.” Adora added, glaring up at Hordak. As if daring him to prove her right. That he did not deserve their care and compassion. That he was a waste. 

Hordak was still too shocked to ever register her challenge, let alone rise to it. 

He staggered backwards and sat on the exam table he recently rose from. 

Entrapta created a new body for him… that new body was this… child-Horde. This child-Horde gave parts of their own body to save his life. Hordak reeled. He felt light headed. Faint. Was he about to pass out again? He was still recovering from coming back from the dead, it was not out of the question that he might pass out again. 

He did not want to pass out in front of Adora and Bow. In front of a defector and a rebel. 

“In any event, if you’re up you can move.” Adora asserted. “It’s time to leave. We’re gonna let Entrapta take you back to her own territory where you will stay. Then Entrapta’s gonna come to Brightmoon to hold up her end of the bargain. You are going to go along quietly and not make trouble. As far as I’m concerned you’re a war criminal. Stay in Dryl and I won’t touch you, but step one talon outside of Dryl and you’re mine!”

These terms would imply that the Fright Zone was no longer under Horde control. 

Or else, the Horde here on Etheria was no longer under his control. 

Either way, Hordak understood. He did not have any leverage in this situation. 

…

While Adora and Bow strapped a tied up Catra over their flying horse, like a mouthy and disrespectful saddle bag, Hordak was plucked off his feet and placed on top of Emily. The bot would carry him while he, Entrapta, their clone composite, Imp, and Scorpia made their way to Dryl. 

“Hey, did you remember to tell Micah about Angella or that Shadow Weaver’s living in the castle?” Bow asked Adora before they flew off. 

“No. I thought you did.” Adora replied before Swift Wind jumped into the air and Hordak missed the rest of that conversation. 

Emily started moving forward and Hordak almost fell off the bot’s round dome top. There were no hand-holds on the Horde bot, they were not exactly designed for passengers. He had to rely wholly on his own balance. 

“Oh, this is so exciting!” Entrapta clapped her hands as she cartwheeled on her hair. “I’ve never brought a boy home to my castle before! I can’t wait to show you my lab! I’ve got so much First Ones tech! The mines just keep churning it out! There must have been a First Ones settlement in the mountains before Dryl was there. There’s just too much for it to have been an outpost. And now that I know what Eternia is, I can make so many more advances in my reaserch! And now that I’ve got my lab partner back-!”

“Eternia?” Hordak echoed, some small part of his half-forgotten dream rising to the surface. ‘Reunite Etheria with Eternia’. 

“Yeah!” Entrapta smiled. “It’s a planet. But there aren’t any other planets in Despondos. So it’s gotta be from where you’re from. The Known Universe, right? Have you heard of it? It’s supposed to be part of the same Runestone network as Etheria. Two parts of the same machine.” Her eyes sparkled. “It’s fascinating. I wish we could see it!”

…

END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I finally did it. I finished this first installment of this fic. If you haven't become absolutely frustrated with me as an author, you can look for the next installment of this series, "Prodigal Brother" coming to the archives soon!


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